


Déverrouillé

by wolfb0y



Series: Hasardeux [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Medical Torture, Pain, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Violence, im so sorry, it hurts me too, mercymaker, this is really getting out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-01-30 06:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfb0y/pseuds/wolfb0y
Summary: “You’re one of the lucky ones, Miss Lacroix… Yes, indeed.” Doctor O’Deorain purred.As if some kind of miracle, Amélie’s eyes finally opened. Her vision was blurred, almost like she was underwater. From what she could make out, before her stood a tall woman in a lab coat—just like Angela’s. She had bright red hair that was slicked back and cut short. On the left side of her face sat a small, metal plate of some sort. The doctor’s eyes sent chills down Amélie’s spine. The left one was a vibrant blue while the other was a harsh red. Amélie wished that she had never opened her own.“You are going to reach your full potential.”





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> hey i really love to suffer and i really love to share that suffering with others. when blizzard unveiled Moira and gave us the scoop on her lore, this idea hit me like a bus and i really need to get it out there. i hope that u enjoy.

    “It truly is a shame we can’t spare Gérard… He would make an excellent subject with his military background.” A muffled, unfamiliar voice caused Amélie Lacroix to stir.  
  
    It was dark all around her and her mind was fuzzy. Had she fallen asleep? She didn’t remember going to bed. In fact, she couldn’t even feel her bed beneath her. All she could register was the feeling of some sort of cold substance running over her skin. Liquid? Was she having a strange nightmare? Her mind threatened to start racing, but she was far too lethargic to process much. She wanted to open her eyes and try to examine her surroundings, but her eyelids wouldn’t budge. A dull sense of terror crept over her as she picked up a second voice.  
  
    “There’s too much risk for us to commit to that part of the plan. If things were different, we would have him right here. But for now, she’s all we have. I’m more than confident that you’ll be able to make do with that.” A male voice was fairly distant compared to the other one she had first heard.  
  
    The female speaker gave a nonchalant laugh, “Yes, you needn’t worry. I won’t have any trouble. Although, she’s a bit of an interesting pick, don’t you think?”  
  
    “It was either her or the Amari girl, remember? If we’d have gone for the Amari, I’m not so sure we would have been as successful as we are now.” The man’s response was followed by some faint footsteps.  
  
    “Mmm… Yes. Surely Ana would have been an issue. That woman is as stubborn as a mule. Taking Fareeha would’ve guaranteed an incessant search and rescue effort. Perhaps it’s for the best that things have worked out the way they did.”  
  
    The male voice was closer now, “That’s the spirit, O’Deorain. Adapt and overcome.”  
  
    “Now that I’m getting a good look at her, I don’t think there will be much standing in my way. Her physique is rather... Optimal.” The sound of more subdued footsteps echoed through the room.  
  
    “I would hope so. She was one of the most renowned ballet dancers in all of France.”  
  
    Amélie felt her blood run cold. They were talking about her. Not only did these people know of the Amaris, but they also knew of her. If that was the case, then they undoubtedly knew of Overwatch and the people in it. Overwatch only had one real enemy; Talon. They were the only ones with the means to take action against Overwatch. They were the only ones monstrous enough to ruin lives without a second thought. A pinging sound interrupted the conversation unfolding before her and caused Amélie’s head to throb.  
  
    “She’s conscious. Are you going to put her back under?” The man asked.  
  
    “I don’t think she has even a sliver of awareness, yet. We’ll wait a bit, hm?”  
  
    The fear that was once blanketing Amélie’s mind quickly converted itself into frustration. Why couldn’t she move? Why could she breathe if she felt like she was underwater? Why couldn’t she open her eyes? This was all incredibly confusing. She couldn’t recall anything that might have happened before this. The only thing that she remembered was the morning. Angela left for work and Amélie made her promise that they’d go out for drinks after her shift. She was looking forward to that. Was anyone else caught by Talon? Was Angela okay? Did Angela even know she was missing?  
  
    The pinging only became more frequent as panic settled over Amélie’s foggy mind, “Doctor O’Deorain… I think she-“  
  
    “Would you do me a favor and fetch me something to drink? I’m rather parched.” The woman responded carelessly.  
  
    “Right away.” The abrupt response came a few seconds before the sound of a heavy door shutting somewhere behind Amélie.  
  
    “Open your eyes, then.” The voice—who Amélie now assumed belonged to Doctor O’Deorain—demanded.  
  
    Amélie tried. Not because she was told, but because she wanted so badly to open her eyes. She wanted to know what had become of her. She wanted to see the faces of her captors. The anger only continued to build inside of her at the realization that she couldn’t execute a task so simple as opening her own eyes. It was such a trivial thing. Something she had never imagined she wouldn’t be able to do. Amidst her frustration, Amélie experienced a pang of guilt for having always taken such a simple thing for granted.  
  
    “If you’re conscious, I’d imagine you are quite confused right now.” She started, “Probably somewhat scared, as well…”  
  
    The ballet dancer was begging her body to move. She had never felt so desperate. She didn’t want to listen to this psychopathic woman. All she wanted was to open her eyes or lift a finger—anything, really. It was as if the connections between her brain and her body had been severed all together. She wanted to thrash about and cry for help, but it was futile. How would she be able to? Who would come to her aid? She was in the viper’s nest, now. There would be no aid.  
  
    “But I promise you’ve nothing to worry about. You’re in the care of some of the finest scientists and doctors the world has ever known. Even if the rest of the world doesn’t quite know it yet.” Doctor O’Deorain chuckled to herself and Amélie swore she could feel bile rising in her throat.  
  
    The doctor paused for a moment before asking, “Do you feel you’ve unlocked every ounce of your potential?”  
  
    Amélie didn’t answer, of course. The doctor, however, continued.  
  
    “Surely you must feel as though you’ve accomplished _something_. Apparently you’re quite popular among the dance scene… You’re the daughter of a wealthy politician… You’re married to one of the highest ranking members of Blackwatch…” Amélie had no choice but to listen as this woman delivered her twisted monologue, “Ah, Blackwatch. Such a lost cause. It’s sad, really. Those fools think that they’re helping to save the world when in reality, they’re just holding it back.”  
  
    Amélie felt her mouth open ever-so-slightly. She inhaled deeply, still clueless as to how she was able to breathe. If only she could open her eyes…  
  
    “Ethics have always been troublesome, though. It shouldn't surprise me. Yet Overwatch and Blackwatch only magnify that issue… People are afraid of what they cannot understand. But that’s why science is so marvelous, Miss Lacroix. Science can reveal the truths that lie behind our questions. The things that we learn can unlock the true potential of humanity. Would that not be the most _wonderful_ thing? A planet where everyone has reached their full potential.”  
  
    Amélie had already deemed this woman crazy, but her rant completely solidified that assumption. What did she mean by ‘full potential’? How did she know about Blackwatch? That entire portion of Overwatch was one of the best kept secrets on the planet. Even Amélie barely got to know about it. Nothing added up. Nothing made any sense.  
  
    “You’re one of the lucky ones, Miss Lacroix… Yes, indeed.” Doctor O’Deorain purred.  
  
    As if some kind of miracle, Amélie’s eyes finally opened. Her vision was blurred, almost like she was underwater. From what she could make out, before her stood a tall woman in a lab coat—just like Angela’s. She had bright red hair that was slicked back and cut short. On the left side of her face sat a small, metal plate of some sort. The doctor’s eyes sent chills down Amélie’s spine. The left one was a vibrant blue while the other was a harsh red. Amélie wished that she had never opened her own.  
  
    “You are going to reach your full potential.”


	2. II.

    Amélie Lacroix’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the woman in the lab coat cross the floor in front of her. She noticed how particularly unsettling her hands were as the doctor slid on a pair of black gloves. The long, pointed fingernails that added flair to her pale hands disappeared beneath thick rubber. Her smirk never seemed to fade. Amélie never thought that a doctor could want to hurt someone. Angela never wanted to hurt anyone. Amélie always teased her about how dedicated she was to her hippocratic oath. Now she wished she hadn’t joked about it so light heartedly.  
  
    “We’ll start simple. Wouldn’t want to overload those circuits of yours.” Doctor O’Deorain told her, as if that was any consolation.  
  
    Amélie knew that what she had said was only a figure of speech, but something about it was frightening. Was it the way that she had said it so casually? Or the way that she spoke about her like she was some sort of robot? How could she look at Amélie as anything less than human? Perhaps she could, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care. Surely these Talon folk only worked for the organization because they didn’t have an inkling of compassion or humanity in them. That was the only explanation Amélie could whip up.  
  
    Her eyes followed the doctor as she approached a panel in front of the tank where Amélie was being suspended in liquid. The doctor pressed a few buttons and flicked a small switch. Amélie scrunched up her nose as she felt a change in the oxygen being pumped through the mask that was strapped around her head. The air felt much thinner, much cooler. As she had no choice but to inhale, she began to feel dizzy and somewhat light-headed. She glared at Doctor O’Deorain as she moved closer to the glass.  
  
    “What you’re breathing in is one hundred percent oxygen.” The red headed woman said, “It’s dangerous if inhaled for extensive periods, but in small doses it can be quite helpful. Almost like a kick start for the body.”  
  
    The only thing bothering Amélie was the spinning feeling that accompanied breathing in the new oxygen. Well, that—And the psychopathic doctor who was holding her captive like some kind of lab rat. Amélie wanted to move her limbs, now. They still felt like dead weight; Like they didn’t even belong to her anymore. Her mind flashed to Genji Shimada. When she had first heard of him, she didn’t think to consider what he must have gone through during his adjustment to his new body. If it was anything like this, she pitied him.  
  
    Only a few minutes had passed, but to Amélie it felt like an eternity. She felt like she was on the brink of passing out when Doctor O’Deorain flicked the switch from earlier. Amélie could feel the quality of the oxygen return to its initial state. She breathed a little easier as the doctor disappeared behind her. Even her peripheral vision was of no help as she tried to figure out where the woman had gone. If only she could move her body.  
  
    “Let’s get you out of there, shall we?” Doctor O’Deorain’s voice came from somewhere in the distance.  
  
    There was a hissing sound, followed by a gurgling noise as all of the liquid surrounding Amélie slowly began to go down. She felt the soles of her feet touch the floor of the cylinder that she was in, her legs giving beneath her. As the mysterious blue liquid disappeared completely, Amélie collapsed at the bottom of the tank. Her eyes watered as she attempted to execute any kind of movement. Why had her body become completely useless? The frustration that she felt was almost as unbearable as the fear that continued to grow within her.  
  
    The tall woman reappeared before her, “Now, now. Don’t get worked up. It will only make things worse.”  
  
    Amélie could only suck in harsh breaths as she listened to the sound of the doctor’s footsteps. With her forehead pressed to the floor, she attempted to look out of the corners of her eyes. Still, she could find nothing. There came a soft click from her right side and another hissing sound. The cold air from the room around her seeped into the tank and caused her to grit her teeth. She could feel a hand on her shoulder and then another at the top of her spine. There was a dull stinging pain where the second hand had touched her. And then she moved.  
  
    She gasped loudly as she lifted her head and dug her fingernails into the metal beneath her. Doctor O’Deorain took a few steps back as Amélie seemed to assess herself. She looked at her hands, then at the rest of her body. She appeared to be unbothered by the fact that she was completely naked. Her jaw flexed slightly as she moved her knees beneath her and attempted to get up.  
  
    “Take it slowly, Miss Lacroix. We’re in no rush.”  
  
    Amélie wasn’t listening. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through her ears. Her limbs were on fire as she forced herself to get to her feet. She nearly collapsed as she stepped down from the cylinder and onto the freezing tile. The refined ballet dancer staggered a few feet before crumbling to her hands and knees again. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders and neck as she struggled to collect herself. Doctor O’Deorain crouched beside her, placing a finger beneath her chin and tilting her head up.  
  
    “Are you afraid?” The Talon woman asked quietly.  
  
    Devilish miss-matched eyes found Amélie’s, boring into them relentlessly. Amélie felt completely paralyzed despite having regained all of her movement. She wanted to say something, but no sound would escape her lips. Instead, she spit in the doctor’s face. Her act of defiance was met with a soft chuckle. Doctor O’Deorain pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of her lab coat and carefully wiped away Amélie’s saliva. Then, she folded up the piece of fabric and tucked it back into her pocket.  
  
    The scientist cleared her throat, “I’m here to ensure that no harm comes to you, Miss Lacroix. Please don’t make me change my mind.”  
  
    “ _Aller en enfer_ ,” Amélie breathed.  
  
    “Ah, you French. So impolite,” Doctor O’Deorain sighed, “If you follow me and hold your tongue, I’ll feed you. You are hungry, aren’t you?”  
  
    Amélie only glared at the doctor as she got to her feet. She extended a hand, as if to offer Amélie assistance in getting up. The ballerina reached up for the edge of a table instead, getting to her feet and trying to remain upright as she followed the taller woman. They rounded a corner and ventured down a long, dim hallway. Amélie couldn’t help shivering at the cold air that seeped out of the vents overhead. Doctor O’Deorain rounded another corner and stopped in front of a large door. She punched in a few codes on a panel alongside the doorframe, causing it to slide open. Amélie followed her into another room. This one was on office of sorts. There was a large table in the middle of the room with a bright light hanging overhead. Various scientific tools and experiment-looking objects were strewn across the tabletop. Off in the back corner of the room, there was a desk with a curved shape. As Amélie looked over the room, she noticed how clean it was in comparison to Angela’s office.  
  
    Where were all of the books? Where were the coffee mugs with cheesy sayings and designs? Where were the stacks of paperwork and medical reports? This didn’t seem like a doctor’s office at all. Or perhaps, Amélie thought, Angela’s office was some kind of exception. But this one didn’t even have a couch. Amélie stepped toward the table and looked down at the objects scattered over its surface. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the table as she furrowed her brow in thought. Surely these little trinkets had something to do with her, right? Everything up to this point had. Why would these be any different? Doctor O’Deorain picked up a lab coat that was draped over the chair behind her desk and walked over to Amélie. She draped it over the dancer’s shoulders and then sat down at the head of the table. She looked at Amélie, then at the contents in front of her.  
  
    “Fret not. These aren’t for you. They’re just projects I’ve been working on.” Doctor O’Deorain assured her.  
  
    “ _J'ai faim_ ,” Amélie muttered, “ _Vous avez dit que vous alliez me nourrir._ ”  
  
    The doctor paused for a moment, “Right.”  
  
    Amélie wasn’t sure if the woman even knew what she was saying. She didn’t care, either. Surely there would be a point in time where this monster would try to get information out of her. If that was the case, then Amélie refused to give her any type of response that she would be able to understand. She couldn’t help the enemy. She couldn’t jeopardize the people she cared about. Knowing that she caused anyone she loved to get hurt would be more painful than anything these people could ever do to her. Amélie pulled the lab coat on and sat down at the opposite end of the table as Doctor O’Deorain pulled up a holopad and began typing on it.  
  
    Within a matter of a few uncomfortable minutes, a woman arrived with a tray of food. She placed it on the table before Amélie without saying a word. Then, she left as quickly as she had arrived. Amélie stared at the tray in front of her. There was some rice, some bread, and some questionable meat. She assumed maybe it was chicken. In any case, it was no wonder the people at Talon were so evil. Amélie decided she would be evil too if she were forced to eat meals like this. Regardless, her stomach growled at the sight of the food before her. The French woman reluctantly picked up the silverware from the tray and began to peck at her food.  
  
    “What do you know about human psychology?” Doctor O’Deorain asked.  
  
    Amélie ignored her as she cautiously shoveled spoonfuls of rice into her mouth. The stuff was horribly bland. It had absolutely no flavor. She furrowed her brow as she poked at a piece of possible chicken with a fork. Doctor O’Deorain smiled to herself.  
  
    “The human psyche is fascinating. It’s so vibrant and unique… So fragile.” The red head woman rambled on as Amélie became so bold as to try a piece of chicken.  
  
    It was also completely void of flavor. Now was not the time for her to be picky, but it was simpler for her to classify it as plain defiance. She spit the chicken onto the tray and looked across the table at her captor.  
  
    Doctor O’Deorain once again met Amélie with a grin, “Sensory deprivation is said to be helpful for meditation and relaxation in short sessions… Longer sessions, though, can cause very negative side effects.”  
  
    Amélie felt a chill run through her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the doctor had just happened to bring up sensory deprivation at the same time that Amélie was trying to eat a flavorless meal. She bit a chunk out of the piece of bread on the tray. It was also dreadfully plain. Amélie swallowed the mouthful and placed the remaining bread back where she had picked it up. Were they only messing with her? Maybe the food was made to be tasteless. Amélie thought for a moment before biting down hard on her lower lip. She tried not to cringe as she felt a small break form beneath her top right tooth. Blood oozed onto her tongue and to her horror, she couldn’t taste the metallic tinge that she was expecting.  
  
    “Surprised?” Doctor O’Deorain asked.  
  
    “ _Arrêter de parler_ ,” Amélie growled.  
  
    The doctor nodded, “Hmm… I think I understand. Be a dear and follow me, then, will you?”


	3. III.

    “If you don’t wish to hear me speak, then I’d be happy to accommodate you.” Doctor O’Deorain told Amélie as she walked briskly out of the room.  
  
    Amélie scooped a final spoonful of rice into her mouth before getting out of the chair and following the scientist. She clutched the robe tighter around her body, looking down at her bare feet as they trekked further into the building. She wondered if perhaps she’d be able to get some actual clothing, rather than the raggedy lab coat that she was handed off. Maybe Doctor O’Deorain would accommodate her then. She had said she was there to ensure that no harm would come to Amélie. Did that mean she’d be willing to meet her halfway about things so long as Amélie complied?  
  
    Doctor O’Deorain unlocked a heavy door and pushed it open. She slipped into the darkness and flipped on a light switch. Rows of lights flicked on one by one as Doctor O’Deorain gestured to Amélie. Amélie cautiously entered the room, looking at her surroundings. The floors and walls were white, as well as any furniture in the area. The entire space was practically blinding. The dancer squinted as she ventured further into the middle of the room. There was a chair like the type she would see at the dentist’s office in one corner. In the other, there was a flat table with different belts and loops on it. Amélie turned around to move toward the door, but Doctor O’Deorain had already shut it.  
  
    She took long, quiet strides to the other end of the room and began typing on a holographic keyboard. A set of holographic screens appeared above the keyboard and spanned across a good portion of the wall. Amélie watched carefully as the red headed woman pulled up various files and documents. There were a few images of people that had been crossed out. Amélie didn’t want to consider what that might mean. She folded her arms and stood back, waiting for the doctor to say anything to her. Her eyes remained glued to the screen, widening when she noticed an image of Captain Amari flash across the screen. Amélie’s body carried itself forward as more images of the members of Overwatch took up space on the screens.  
  
    Before she could notice, Amélie was standing directly over Doctor O’Deorain’s shoulder. Angela’s image came on screen and Amélie felt her breath catch in her throat. She wished that it wasn’t only a picture, that Angela could pull her through the screen and get her away from this confusing place. Doctor O’Deorain somehow seemed to notice this. She looked over her shoulder, her expression calculating and smug. Her fingers trailed over the image as she enlarged it.  
  
    “You know this woman?” Doctor O’Deorain asked, although she clearly already knew the answer to her question.  
  
    Amélie ignored her, remaining defiant. She was under no obligation to give this woman anything. And she wasn’t going to.  
  
    Again, the doctor caught on, “Doctor Angela Ziegler. One of the world’s most beloved heroes; A ‘guardian angel’, if you will. Intimidatingly smart, but ultimately a coward.”  
  
    “ _Vous ne savez rien_ ,” Amélie said, her words laced with venom.  
  
    “If you have the technology to improve mankind, why would you shield that from the world?” Doctor O’Deorain argued, “She knows so much about the nanobots… So much about altering the body… And yet, she refuses to give access to those outside of Overwatch.”  
  
    Amélie glared at her, wondering what it must be like to have such a distorted view of everything. She didn’t seem to care, continuing on in her psychotic ramblings.  
  
    “I remember Genji Shimada.” The scientist said as she pulled up his image on screen, “I remember when they brought him in. Angela was so desperate to help him… I had never seen her so willing to use that kind of technology on a person.”  
  
    Amélie’s eyes moved away from the doctor and back onto the screen. Images of Genji during his reconstruction popped up. Amélie felt her stomach churn at the graphic nature of the images. There were pictures of his face before they had given him a new jaw, pictures of his mangled remaining limbs, and pictures of just about every other nightmare-inducing injury he had acquired. Amélie forced herself to look away from the disturbing pictures. Doctor O’Deorain only chuckled to herself.  
  
    “Amazing, isn’t it? How she was so eager to drop everything and use whatever she could to try to save someone who was a lost cause…” The doctor trailed off, “His own brother tried to kill him because he had dishonored his father’s empire. Angela risked so much to save a petty criminal… Why wouldn’t she invest that into the good of humanity?”  
  
    She couldn’t listen to this woman slander Angela or Genji. How could she possibly understand the magnitude of what the two of them had to go through during that ordeal? Amélie remembered the things Angela had told her. She remembered the way that Angela’s eyes watered when she described the guilt she felt surrounding Genji’s identity crisis. Amélie also recalled meeting Genji. They had only talked briefly a few times, but he was nice. Not only that—he was unmistakably human. Who was this foolish doctor to think that she knew the first thing about what they had been through? It was much more than she would ever be able to comprehend.  
  
    “It’s not that simple.” Amélie said defensively, gritting her teeth.  
  
    “Oh? And why not? Why doesn’t every human get the same chance as a spoiled low life like the Shimada boy?” Doctor O’Deorain countered.  
  
    Amélie could offer no response. Even if she could, it was pointless. Speaking to this human being was like speaking to a brick wall. She cast her gaze toward the floor, shifting uncomfortably as Doctor O’Deorain stared at her. After an uncomfortable silence, she turned to face the computer screens once again.  
  
    “I suppose everyone has different opinions. The medical community almost always seems to take a stance similar to Angela’s. It’s like they’re afraid of humanity unlocking it’s true potential, becoming what it _should_ be.” The doctor suggested.  
  
    “ _Vous êtes fou_ ,” Amélie muttered, her words disregarded completely by the other woman.  
  
    “Ah, I nearly forgot why I brought you in here!” She said as she abandoned her post at the computer screens and crossed the room.  
  
    Amélie’s eyes remained fixed on the image of Angela that sat on one of the screens to the left of the keyboard. It was a professional picture that Angela had gotten fancy for. She looked so precious with her little silver necklace and her black dress shirt. She wasn’t wearing her glasses in this photo. Amélie loved it when she wore her glasses, although she’d never told her that. Now she wished more than anything that she had. There was so much that she wished she had done. What if she would never see Angela again? What if she would never see her parents again?  
  
    She felt like the room was spinning as realization came crashing down around her. To her own knowledge, no one knew where she was. What if they never found her? Amélie’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. This couldn’t be the end. Why did these people even want her? If they were going to kill her, why wouldn’t they just do it already? None of her questions would be answered, she was sure of it. Then again, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Amélie swallowed the lump that had begun to form in her throat. Feigning confidence, she spoke up.  
  
    “What have you captured me for? Ransom?”  
  
    Doctor O’Deorain laughed in a way that made Amélie feel small, “Ransom? Oh, no. We have all the funding necessary to sustain ourselves, I assure you.”  
  
    “Then what am I here for?” Amélie inquired.  
  
    “I’ve already told you, Miss Lacroix. You’re here so that we can unlock your true potential. We’re going to improve so much, so quickly.” The woman in the lab coat answered vaguely.  
  
    Amélie scowled, “If you’re going to kill me, the least that you could do is offer me some answers.”  
  
    Once again, Doctor O’Deorain’s laugh caused Amélie’s skin to crawl, “Kill you? My dear, that is the _last_ thing I would do to you. You’re far too valuable for any harm to come to you under my care.”  
  
    “ _De précieux_?” Amélie echoed in her native tongue.  
  
    “Yes, valuable.” The doctor replied swiftly, rummaging through a drawer.  
  
    Still, none of this was adding up. She hadn’t expected to get answers; And she hadn’t. But she had gotten some form of response. It wasn’t precise or helpful, but at least she knew she wasn’t going to die. Unless that was some sort of reverse psychology. Amélie didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she focused on coaxing out any kind of answer.  
  
    “If it’s information you want, I don’t know anything. I was prohibited from knowing anything about Gérard’s work.” The dancer informed her.  
  
    She turned around, holding something Amélie couldn’t identify, “I’m aware. I used to work alongside Gérard. If you did have any information, I would probably have the same, if not more.”  
  
    Somehow this information made even less sense to Amélie. She quirked a brow and paused for a moment. Doctor O’Deorain approached her slowly, stopping a few feet in front of her with a sigh.  
  
    “Gérard... He’s a good man. It’s just a shame that he’s blindsided by that entire organization. He holds such incredible potential.” The doctor frowned, “There are many members of Overwatch that I wish I could get my hands on. If only they could see the bigger picture—what we could accomplish together.”  
  
    “I don’t understand. You worked for Overwatch. Why not just stay with them?” Amélie shook her head.  
  
    “They were holding me back. Ziegler, Lindholm, Amari… All of the staff there… They called my work ‘unethical’ and claimed that I was ‘too ambitious’. I resented them… None of them could see the bigger picture. I left and sought someplace where my talents would be recognized. I found it here.” Doctor O’Deorain stretched her arms out, as if referring to the entire building they were in, “Here I’m free of judgement. Here I’m able to work toward bettering mankind.”  
  
    Amélie scoffed, “Unethical? What part of kidnapping is considered unethical?”  
  
    “You have quite the sense of humor, don’t you, Miss Lacroix?” The scientist asked, her smile fading.  
  
    “So I’ve been told.” She nodded.  
  
    “Well, I must say, I have _so_ enjoyed our conversations. But I’m afraid that I’m going to have to make some adjustments to better suit your stay here. You did say that you’d rather not have to listen to my voice. I’m more than happy to oblige.” Doctor O’Deorain stepped closer to Amélie.  
  
    The dancer raised her arms to shove her kidnapper, but was met with a sharp pain in her bicep. Her limbs seemed to turn to jelly in a fraction of a second. The doctor caught her as her legs crumpled beneath her. Amélie looked frantically at the hands that gripped her arms. Doctor O’Deorain’s right hand was the equivalent of something she’d see in a horror film. Flesh met metal plates and wires on the surface of her fingers, leading down to freakishly long nails. The doctor opened her mouth, speaking calmly to a terrified Amélie. She could see her speaking, but she couldn’t hear a word she was saying. It was only a matter of seconds before everything around her turned to black.


	4. IV.

    The sun had long since set by the time that Amélie approached the front door of her townhouse and began rummaging through her duffel bag for her keys. She pulled them out, sticking the silver key into the lock on the door. To her surprise, she found that the the door was already unlocked. She opened it and quirked a brow as she peered inside. Faint music was playing from somewhere in the house and something smelled exquisite. It couldn’t be a thief. Home invaders didn’t listen to jazz. The dancer stepped into the house, looking around. That couldn’t be Gérard, could it? He hadn’t informed her that he would be coming home. Amélie dropped her bag beside the door and shut it behind her, following her nose and ears to the kitchen. Relief coursed through her as she rounded the corner to see Angela.  
  
    “Angela?” Amélie laughed slightly, mostly out of confusion, “What’s all this?”  
  
    The woman in question whirled around with a smile on her face, “I left the office early so that I could surprise you after practice.”  
  
    “What’s the occasion?” Amélie wanted to know as she strolled into the kitchen.  
  
    “Does there have to be an occasion for me to do something nice for you?” Angela asked in response.  
  
    Amélie shook her head, “Of course not, _cherie_. But you and I both know that you’re not exactly the romantic type.”  
  
    Angela seemed to want to say something in her own defense, but instead furrowed her brow. She looked toward the oven, where something was baking. Amélie peered over the counter top before joining Angela in front of the appliance.  
  
    “What are you making?” Amélie inquired.  
  
    “A baked pasta casserole.” Angela said proudly, “It’s the only thing I actually know how to make.”  
  
    “You can perform life-saving surgeries, but you can’t cook?” Amélie teased.  
  
    Angela rolled her eyes as Amélie snaked her arms around the smaller woman’s waist. She peppered her neck and cheek with kisses as Angela feigned disinterest. Amélie rested her head on the doctor’s shoulder.  
  
    “You know I was only teasing about the romantic stuff, right?” She asked Angela.  
  
    “Of course I do,” The blonde woman responded smugly, “I just like to give you a hard time.”  
  
    “How rude,” Amélie gasped, eliciting a laugh from Angela.  
  
    She turned around and planted a kiss on Amélie’s cheek, “I drew you a hot bath. You have time before dinner is finished.”  
  
    “ _Je suis gâtée_!” The dancer remarked as she pulled Angela against her, “I don’t deserve you.”  
  
    “Nonsense. Go wash up, you smell like sweat.” Angela giggled before giving her a quick peck.  
  
    “Oh! And _so_ romantic,” Amélie prodded, heading toward the stairs.  
  
    Angela laughed in response and Amélie smiled to herself as she headed up to the second story of the house. Sure enough, Angela had drawn her a bath and she had even lit a few candles. Amélie was pleasantly surprised. She undressed and settled into the tub where the water was still letting off faint steam. Amélie felt her muscles relax almost instantly. She sank lower into the water, feeling her neck and shoulders loosen up as well. She closed her eyes and listened to the distant music being played downstairs. Was Angela listening to… Sinatra? Amélie shook her head. What a cheese.  
  
    She washed her hair languidly as the scent of dinner became stronger and stronger. Her stomach growled at her while she cleaned herself up. Amélie had hardly even noticed how hungry she was. Practice usually left her feeling pretty famished. Then again, though, she never came home to something smelling so delicious. Amélie was combing her fingers through her hair when she heard Angela call for her. She drained the tub and grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall behind her. Wrapping herself in it, she ventured toward her dresser to slip into some clothes. After she had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt that appeared to have belonged to Angela at one point, Amélie hurried downstairs. The bouquet of the food made her mouth water as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  
  
    Angela was dishing up her food as she rounded the corner, “Sit, I’ll bring you your food.”  
  
    “You really are an angel, no?” Amélie replied, taking a seat at one end of the table.  
  
    Angela’s cheeks flushed pink—something they often did when Amélie flirted with her. Even though things between them had been quite serious for a while, Angela still turned red at times. Amélie adored that about her. In fact, she had even made somewhat of a game out of it. Sometimes she would see how many times she could get Angela to blush in a single night. Other times, she would see how quickly she could get Angela to turn the same shade as a ripe tomato. Amélie was convinced that it was something she would never get tired of seeing.  
  
    Angela brought two full plates to the table, setting one before Amélie and the other at the opposite side. Before she took her seat, she fetched two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the table. Angela pulled the cork out of the wine bottle in the center of the table and filled the two glasses. She handed one off to Amélie, who graciously accepted and took a sip. Angela looked down at her glass and then up to Amélie. The dancer inhaled deeply through her nose and shook her head.  
  
    “Just do it quick.”  
  
    Angela smiled as she got up from her seat and sped to the fridge. She pulled a few ice cubes from the freezer and returned to her seat before dropping the cubes into her glass. Amélie tried to mask her horror as she stuck her fork into the casserole on her plate. Angela laughed against the rim of her glass.  
  
    “You’re terrible.” Amélie remarked as she scooped a mouthful of baked pasta into her mouth.  
  
    Angela waited in suspense for Amélie’s approval, “Well?”  
  
    “ _C'est incroyable_!” The dark haired woman praised, “Why haven’t you made this before?”  
  
    “I didn’t think of it until recently.” Angela shrugged as she watched Amélie wolf down the contents of her plate, “But I figure it makes a nice surprise… Not so terrible now, am I?”  
  
    Amélie swallowed a mouthful of noodles, “ _Incroyable_.”  
  
    “I’m glad you like it,” The medic said triumphantly as she began to eat.  
  
    As they finished their food, they were silent. Jazz floated softly throughout the room and the scent of their dinner lingered in the air long after they had finished. Amélie stretched her arms and sighed contently as Angela rose from her seat to begin cleaning the kitchen. Finishing off the remainder of her wine, the dancer stood up and brought the wine over to the counter. She poured herself another glass and sashayed over to Angela, who had started packing up the remainder of casserole as leftovers. Angela tightened the lid on the tupperware and turned to look at Amélie with a laugh.  
  
    “You’re going to spill!” Angela warned.  
  
    Amélie twirled before looking back at the shorter woman, “I’m a skilled ballet dancer, _mon ange_. Have a little more faith in me.”  
  
    “I’ll clean the kitchen. But if you spill, you’re cleaning it up.” She told her.  
  
    “Don’t worry about the kitchen,” Amélie said as the song changed to one she recognized, “Dance with me.”  
  
    Angela exhaled through her nose and tilted her head a bit. Amélie knew she wasn’t very fond of dancing, but it was fun to carry her through the steps and it was nice to be close to her. She remembered the first time she had danced with Angela and how Angela had whined beforehand. Amélie knew she ended up liking it, but would probably never admit it to her. That was okay, though. She didn’t have to admit it. She confessed it every single time, solely through her body language. Frankly, that was all the evidence that Amélie needed.  
  
    “Just one song, _cherie_. This is a classic.” She pleaded, extending a hand to Angela.  
  
    Angela tried to fight her smile, but it was a battle she always lost. She took Amélie’s hand and stepped close to her. Amélie guided her through some simple steps as they danced around the kitchen. Angela looked at her feet, while Amélie looked at her. Her heart ached in her chest. She was completely smitten.  
  
    “ _In other words: Hold my hand_ ,” Amélie began to sing along to the lyrics out loud and Angela looked up at her, “ _In other words: Baby, kiss me._ ”  
  
    The blonde woman laughed as Amélie wiggled her eyebrows at her. She led her through the kitchen in slow, but smooth movements. Angela did as she had before, becoming less and less tense as Amélie guided her. Amélie enjoyed this process. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but she figured it must mean that Angela felt safe with her—that she trusted her.  
  
    “ _Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore._ ” Amélie pulled her closer and planted a kiss on the top of her head as she continued to lead her through the steps.  
  
    “ _In other words: Please, be true. In other words: I love you._ ” Angela rested her head against Amélie’s chest, closing her eyes and listening to her voice.  
  
    “ _Fill my heart with song, let me sing forever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. In other words: Please, be true. In other words, in other words: I love you_.” Amélie hugged Angela’s body against her own, standing in the middle of the kitchen as the song faded into the next.  
  
    They hadn’t ever said those words to each other. Not yet, at least. Amélie figured that they both felt the same. She was longing to say it, to shower Angela in words of affection and romantic nonsense until she couldn’t stand it. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not because of Gérard, or because she wasn’t ready. She worried about Angela. What if she wasn’t ready to hear those words? Amélie knew that all of this was incredibly taxing on her. The guilt that she’d been feeling had placed a hefty weight on her shoulders—one that Amélie felt bad she couldn’t relate to. Sure, it was wrong to cheat on her husband with his coworker. And, yes, it was wrong that she hardly felt guilty about it. If it had been up to her, though, she would have never married him. The only issue with that was the fact that a life without Gérard meant a life without Angela. If Gérard had been taken out of the equation, Amélie would’ve never met Angela. It was ironic to think that she had her own husband to thank for meeting her mistress.  
  
    She hated that word. It sounded like a term for a woman with no morals; A homewrecker. Amélie knew that Angela was anything but that. After all, Amélie had initiated everything between them herself. If word managed to get out about her and Angela, she would take full responsibility. Without Amélie’s action, nothing would have happened between them. That was something Amélie couldn’t have lived with. She abided by the principle that life was too short to not do the things that she wanted to do. More often than not, it worked wonders. She had become an accomplished ballet dancer, travelled all over the world, and now she had fallen head over heels for the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. What more could a person want?  
  
    “Angela, I—“  
  
    Amélie’s voice was cut off by a sudden burst of white noise. She tried to talk over it, but it only got louder and louder. Eventually her ears began to ring and she attempted to cover them. Her arms felt like weights again as Angela stared blankly at her. Why wasn’t she helping her? Amélie began to shout as loudly as she could, asking Angela what happened and what was wrong. There came no answer. Empty blue eyes gazed at her in her struggle. Amélie pleaded with her as she tried to regain control of her limbs. This was a strangely familiar feeling. When the white noise subsided, the entire room was silent. Angela was unmoving, stuck in the same place that she had been just a few moments ago. Amélie opened her mouth, but heard a voice come from somewhere behind her.  
  
    “Open your eyes, Amélie."


	5. V.

    Amélie’s gasp rang out through the empty room, bouncing off of the white walls and surprising her, despite coming from her own mouth. Her eyelids flew open and the amount of light that filled her vision was blinding. The dancer would never get used to these rude awakenings that had started to become more and more frequent. As her brain caught up to her body, she realized that was freezing cold and her stomach was aching like nothing she’d ever felt before. Amélie turned her head and squinted. Her restrained arms were slick, glinting from the light that shined overhead. Did they pour water on her to wake her? When had she gone to sleep? Dizziness overwhelmed her and she groaned as her stomach churned.  
  
    “I apologize for the nausea. It should wear off shortly,” The sound of Doctor O’Deorain’s voice was coming from an intercom speaker of some sort, “You did excellent, though.”  
  
    She did excellent? She hadn’t even done anything, as far as she knew. Amélie dared to lift her head, feeling the muscles in her neck stretch and pull as she looked to her feet. She had been stripped of the only clothing she remembered having on and she was soaked in water. What had they done to her? How long was she out? Amélie was shocked that she could still remember her own name and sustain any sort of conscious awareness. Why wouldn’t they just kill her and get it over with? Amélie couldn’t think of any other ultimatum that this would lead to.  
  
    “ _S'il vous plaît_ ,” Amélie said hoarsely, “ _S'il te plaît, tue-moi_.”  
  
    “Surely I’ve told you by now that my French isn’t exactly up to par.” The doctor replied.  
  
    “Why are you doing this?” Amélie demanded, ignoring her prior comment, “Why are you doing this to me?”  
  
    There was a loud clang as the door at the other end of the room slid open. Doctor O’Deorain strolled in all-too-casually and stopped herself at the foot of the table that Amélie was confined to. The mismatched eyes of the scientist ran over the entirety of her body, examining every inch of the dancer’s frame. Amélie noticed, but she couldn’t even feel bothered by her prying stare. She couldn’t feel anything, really. Even the anger that had previously burned within her had been extinguished to the point of existing as if it were a mere ember from a dying fire.  
  
    “You’ve lost some weight… That won’t do. We need you in top physical form, if we are to unlock your maximum potential.” The Talon woman pointed out as she began to take slow strides around the table.  
  
    An unwelcome hand touched the center of Amélie’s thigh, running slowly up the length of her body and stopping just beneath her ribcage. Amélie did not shudder, did not cower. The feeling was dull, not even bringing goosebumps to her skin. The doctor wore a displeased expression, now. She looked over Amélie and retracted her hand, bringing it behind her back to meet the other.  
  
    “You’re a troubled soul, Miss Lacroix.” Doctor O’Deorain began, “That’s not something that I assumed when I first saw you, or even when I first read your files.”  
  
    Amélie didn’t bother to look at her, gazing straight up at the ceiling above her. Tears threatened her eyes and blurred her vision. Although they threatened, they did not fall. She couldn’t determine why they were there in the first place. Any feeling that could have produced them had long since morphed into a meaningless cocktail of chemicals being released from her brain. Amélie found it strange; The fact that her body could continue on with business as usual without her registering any of it as feeling was unfamiliar. Of course she had experienced sadness before and even periodic bouts of depression, but this—This was alien.  
  
    “A famous dancer from a well-to-do family; The beautiful daughter of a wealthy politician. She would grow up to marry one of the pioneers of Blackwatch, Gérard Lacroix. At a glance, it’s rather picturesque… Wouldn’t you agree?” The woman paused, “Surely it would have fooled even myself, had I not taken the time to look a little deeper.”  
  
    “What are you talking about?” Amélie asked, trying to tug her wrists free of their bindings.  
  
    The doctor cleared her throat, “Something clicked when I recalled that Gérard’s father was good friends with yours. They were very close. I found it remarkably cliché that their only children would end up together. That’s where the story gets interesting, though—The part where Angela comes in.”  
  
    Amélie wanted to speak up, wanted to deny that she knew what the woman was talking about. She wasn’t in the position to do so and she certainly wouldn’t get away with it if she tried. After all, It seemed like this woman knew just about everything she needed to know to manipulate Amélie. What was the point of that, though? What was the point of tantalizing her and making her want to give up on everything? In Amélie’s eyes, it seemed counterproductive to Doctor O’Deorain’s overall goal.  
  
    “I can see you… Calculating, still. Even as you lie there, bound and naked. You’re still calculating. I admire your sheer will. You are an admirable person, Amélie.” Doctor O’Deorain gushed, “But you’ve made me lose my train of thought…”  
  
    “Angela,” Amélie felt her name roll off of her tongue for the first time in what must have been days, maybe even weeks.  
  
     _Bittersweet_.  
  
    The red headed woman nodded, “Ah, thank you… Yes, Doctor Ziegler. We never did see eye to eye.”  
  
    “You don’t know her,” Amélie told the doctor.  
  
    “Quite the contrary, actually. I knew her quite well. She would frequently stop by the Blackwatch labs to see what we were getting up to.” Doctor O’Deorain corrected her swiftly, “Ziegler… A _coward_.”  
  
    “You don’t know anything about her.” Amélie accused, although it was clear that she was wrong again.  
  
    The doctor laughed, “I know enough about her. Perhaps even more than you.”  
  
    Amélie didn’t have it in her to argue with this woman. Everything she had tried to argue up to this point had been shut down almost instantaneously. Every act of defiance that she had committed had only seemed to bring delight to Doctor O’Deorain. Amélie wondered how twisted the woman must be to get enjoyment out of such a thing as this. The only thing that Amélie could think to do was lie there and try to ignore the mind games she was being subjected to.  
  
    “She never planned on becoming a part of Overwatch. She didn’t agree with their… Militaristic approach to things.” Doctor O’Deorain narrated, “Still, she became a member. At the time, Blackwatch wasn’t even made clear to those who were in Overwatch. Only Jack Morrison, Captain Amari, and Gabriel Reyes knew of its existence and only they dictated who knew about it. I was recruited by Gabriel with the promise that I could finally expand my work. But once Angela was made aware of Blackwatch, she habitually came down to the labs to pass judgement on what we were doing.”  
  
    “So, what?” Amélie asked dryly, “You’ve captured me as a means of getting back at her? How petty.”  
  
    “Have you not listened, dear Amélie? You serve a much greater purpose here than you know.” The doctor said for the millionth time.  
  
    Amélie had been listening. It wasn’t like she had a choice not to. She just hadn’t picked to believe this statement that the woman seemed intent on drilling into her head. Shouldn’t they be doing anything at all to make Amélie into some kind of super human? Maybe pumping her with chemicals, like they did to Jack Morrison. Maybe subjecting her to electrical shock therapy, so she could somehow develop incredible math skills? None of it fit in with anything else. None of it seemed to serve any real purpose.  
  
    “I know. You keep telling me that.” Amélie reminded the red head.  
  
    Doctor O’Deorain shook her head slowly, “I must admit… Aside from your primary purpose, I suppose a perk of having you around is a sense of getting back at Angela for the time I will never get back. She put me behind in my studies, she inhibited my genius, and she further prevented the world from taking steps to become a more prosperous place. How can she be a hero?”  
  
    A bout of disbelief caused the faintest feeling of shock to strike Amélie. As soon as it came, it went. But it left questions to seep into the back of Amélie’s mind. How could Angela Ziegler be a hero? She had dedicated her entire life to saving everyone else’s. Angela was one of the most heroic people Amélie had ever met. And she was modest—nothing like the Angela that Doctor O’Deorain thought she knew. This woman had no place to be asking how Angela could be a hero under circumstances like these. Certainly the doctor couldn’t consider herself a hero. Unless she was truly that deluded.  
  
    “Isn’t it funny, Miss Lacroix?”  
  
    Amélie returned from her thoughts and back to the conversation, looking up at the doctor, “What?”  
  
    “Isn’t it funny how morals can prevent one from advancing mankind, but allow one to destroy a marriage?” Doctor O’Deorain wore a grin on her face that made Amélie even more nauseous.  
  
    “ _Vous êtes fou_ ,” Amélie snarled, “ _Femme stupide_.”  
  
    “Let that sit.” The doctor told her as she disappeared from the table.  
  
    There was a switching sound as all of the lights in the room went off. The door slid shut and Amélie was alone in the dark. Her eyes began to water again, but the tears never rolled down her cheeks. Amélie convinced herself that she deserved all of this for what she did to Gérard. Even though he didn’t know of the relationship between she and Angela, this had to be karma for her actions. Still, she wished for Overwatch to come for her—even if she didn’t deserve it.


	6. VI.

    Incessant beeping rang in Amélie’s ears like a scream echoing through a canyon. It was impossible to ignore. Had she set an alarm? She didn’t remember doing so. She didn’t remember going to bed, either. What was that sound? Amélie’s eyes snapped open and she could sense the presence of someone else in the room with her. When she saw Angela, she couldn’t help but smile.  
  
    “Amélie,” Angela breathed.  
  
    Why was she in the infirmary? And why was Angela so worked up? Amélie watched as she hurriedly moved her chair to the side of the bed. Angela took her hand. It was warm, compared to her own icy fingertips. The doctor turned on the small lamp on the bedside table and Amélie blinked hard. It was much brighter than she’d expected. She didn’t mind, though. Angela was here. She turned to the blonde woman, who was now wearing a curious expression. Amélie tilted her head a bit as she looked at her.  
  
    “What’s the matter, _cherie_?” Amélie questioned.  
  
    Angela squeezed her hand tight, “Nothing, I’m just so glad to see you. I’m so glad you’re okay… I missed you so much.”  
  
    A tear rolled slowly down her cheek as she looked upon Amélie. The French woman felt a strange emptiness within herself. It was unfamiliar. Then again, things would probably feel unfamiliar for a while. She couldn’t remember anything. Amélie hoped that Angela would give her the details soon. This was troubling, but she didn’t feel completely alarmed. She brushed it off, setting it on the back burner in her mind.  
  
    “I missed you, too… We should go home.”  
  
    “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you and—“  
  
    Amélie knew she might do this, but she couldn’t stay in the infirmary. The infirmary was for the sick or the injured. Amélie was neither of those things. All that she wanted was to be at home. And she wanted Angela by her side. She wanted to be at home with Angela, so that she could explain everything to her. Amélie knew that deep down, Angela wanted to be alone with her too.  
  
    “Angela… Please… I want to go home.”  
  
    Amélie could feel her bottom lip threatening to tremble. She tried her best to keep a straight face as Angela stared at her. The doctor inhaled deeply through her nose before getting to her feet and beginning to unhook all of the equipment from Amélie. The beeping finally stopped and Amélie could breathe a little easier. Angela helped her out of bed, checking the hallway before they ventured out of the building. Amélie could hardly believe that it was so easy for them to leave unnoticed. Or perhaps Angela was just much too good at this.  
  
    When they arrived at the townhouse, Amélie was surprised. A few of the flowers in the front garden had started to wilt. She must have been gone for quite some time, then. The dancer followed Angela into the house, stopping in the entryway to look around. She heard the door click shut behind her, followed by the sound of Angela moving closer to her. Warm, soft fingers closed around her bicep.  
  
    “Are you alright, libeling?” Angela asked quietly.  
  
    “Yes, I just… Can’t remember the last time I was here.” Amélie told her as she felt a frown cross her lips.  
  
    Angela gave her arm a light squeeze, “I’m sure it will come to you soon. Why don’t you get into bed?”  
  
    “I want to take a shower, then I’ll get to bed.” Amélie said, starting up the stairs.  
  
    “Alright.” The blonde replied, “If you need anything, just yell. I’ll make you something to eat.”  
  
    Amélie nodded to herself as she ascended the remaining steps. Her fingertips trailed over the railing on the banister, collecting a thin layer of dust on them. Amélie examined her fingers as she entered her bedroom. It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem possible. How could it be that she was at home one minute and in the infirmary at the Overwatch Headquarters the next? That didn’t seem possible to her. It was even more impossible for her to begin to wrap her mind around it.  
  
    She turned on the water in the shower and sat on the edge of the tub. As she waited for the water to heat up, all she could think of was how frustrating it was that she couldn’t remember anything. What was even stranger was the fact that she could recognize that she was frustrated, but she couldn’t necessarily feel it. When she would mess up during her choreography practices or miss a beat, she could feel the frustrating building in her. She always felt it in her chest. Now, though, there wasn’t anything there. The air in the bathroom began to heat up as the water grew increasingly hot. Amélie mindlessly got into the shower and settled on the floor. She pulled her knees into her chest and rested her head against the tiles on the wall.  
  
    It was troubling to have no memory of anything that had happened to her. It was troubling to have no memory of whether or not anything had actually happened to her. It was troubling to see that everyone around her had been so worked up about her when she didn’t even know she had been gone. Amélie didn’t like the room for possibility. Her imagination was able to run wild when she gave it a little bit of thought. Gérard had told her stories of Talon in the past. She didn’t need to be too creative, since they usually took care of that on their own. It was for that same reason that Amélie didn’t even want to consider the options of what may have been done to her.  
  
    It was cold again. Amélie felt a hand on her shoulder and a slight shake. She looked up at Angela, who had a face ridden with worry. Amélie almost stopped to question why she seemed so distressed, but promptly noticed that she had been fully clothed and sitting on the floor of the shower the entire time.  
  
    “Amé, are you sure you’re alright?” Angela inquired.  
  
    Amélie tucked some wet hair behind her ear, “Yes, I’m fine. My head is just a bit foggy. I’m sorry.”  
  
    “Why are you apologizing? There’s no need to apologize. Let me help you.” Angela offered.  
  
    “Help me what?” Amélie wanted to know.  
  
    “Didn’t you want to shower?” The doctor reminded her.  
  
    “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse for you to undress me?” Amélie quipped flirtatiously, a smirk playing at her lips.  
  
    “You caught me,” Angela bantered as she stood up, holding out a hand, “But I’m serious, Amélie. Are you okay? If you need help with anything, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me.”  
  
    Amélie took Angela’s hand, “I’m fine, _cherie_. But I’ve changed my mind.”  
  
    “About what?” Angela asked as she stepped out of the shower.  
  
    “I’d rather take a bath.”  
  
    “Okay, we can do that.” The blonde woman nodded, moving over to the tub to start the water.  
  
    As the tub began to fill, Angela helped Amélie peel off her soaked clothes. She lifted the shirt over her head and draped it over the glass door on the shower. Drops of water rhythmically fell on the floor as Angela fetched a towel from the cabinet beneath the sinks. She placed it on the edge of the tub and stopped the water. A thin layer of steam trailed off of the surface of the water. It would be nice in comparison to the freezing cold water she had absent-mindedly drenched herself in a few minutes prior. However, she decided she didn’t want Angela to leave her. There was an impending feeling of loneliness that didn’t make much sense to her. What was there to feel lonely about when the person that she cared for most in the world was standing right beside her?  
  
    Amélie looked to Angela, “I want you to get in with me.”  
  
    The blonde woman gave a nod and pulled her turtleneck over her head. Amélie gazed attentively as the doctor undressed. Her slender, fit frame was the same as it ever was. Even the occasional stray freckles that Amélie had taken the time to memorize were still there. Nothing had changed. Angela folded her clothes and set them on the counter beside the sink before approaching the edge of the tub. Amélie gestured to the water and Angela got in first. She settled into the water, resting her back against the pearl acrylic. Amélie followed suit, sitting between Angela’s legs and leaning slack into her. The dancer rested her hands on Angela’s legs and allowed her fingertips to slide over the surface of her skin every once and a while. Feeling Angela’s flesh beneath her fingers was originally a pleasure, but it felt more like a vice now.  
  
    Angela started to wash her hair for her. She was careful not to get any shampoo in her eyes. Amélie liked it when Angela took care of her. Angela had changed her mind about a lot of things. Before she had met her, Amélie always associated doctors with having some kind of negative connotation. Up until then, doctors were just there to tell you what was wrong with you, or give you shots, or have a strange smelling office. That had changed almost overnight by the time she’d met Angela. Now it was comforting to be in the presence of a doctor all the time. It felt safe; Like home. Amélie’s eyelids began to feel heavy again. Ever since she had woken up, she’d felt somewhat groggy. She closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of Angela lathering soap over her skin. After she rinsed it off, she wrapped her arms around Amélie’s body and rested her chin atop her head. Amélie wasn’t used to being cradled by Angela, but she had no problem with it.  
  
    Angela had taken care of her for the rest of the night and even for a bit of the next morning. She’d explained what had happened, although even Angela was a little bit fuzzy on the details. It was incredibly odd to be told that something had happened to you without having any memory of that thing ever happening. Angela informed her that the lost memories of amnesiacs can sometimes appear later on. Amélie wasn’t sure if she wanted the memories to return to her. After Angela left, she checked in constantly with Amélie and even managed a few phone calls. Amélie appreciated that. She felt much less alone than she had thought she would after Angela left. Still, there was the boredom. Gérard had ordered that Amélie not return to her dance studio until they were sure that she was alright. This also gave them time to come up with a cover story for her sudden disappearance. Amélie didn’t understand why she couldn’t just go back and tell them she had had a family emergency, but Gérard made it clear that he needed time to work something out. Amélie was reluctant to listen but she knew it was for the safety of herself and others. After mentally spiting Gérard, she had sat around the house and thought of the various members of Overwatch that she had met. All of them were so unique and interesting. Angela was easily her favorite, but there were a lot of wonderful personalities amongst the organization.  
  
    Winston was the kindest gorilla Amélie had ever met, which was probably the weirdest thing she could ever think. She hadn’t met many gorillas, after all. That Lena Oxton had endless energy and was more bubbly than anyone Amélie had ever met. Gabriel Reyes was kind of mysterious and almost brooding. But Angela had told Amélie many stories of him and she knew that he didn’t show many his true self. Angela was one of the few who got to know him as well as she did. Then there was Jack Morrison, who was always too stressed for his own good. Amélie knew about the screaming matches between he and Gabriel. She had even witnessed one or two. It appeared that Morrison was somewhat of a powder keg, just waiting to explode. She’d taken a liking to both of the Amaris. Ana had a very motherly, protective way about her and Fareeha was a riot. Reinhardt was nothing short of the largest and friendliest person she had ever met. It was always a treat to see him joke around with Torbjörn, who was every bit as loud as he was angry. Genji Shimada hadn’t said much to her when she was introduced, but he seemed nice enough. He was always palling around with Jesse McCree. Jesse had spoken to Amélie more than once and all of those times Amélie was almost certain he was slightly inebriated.  
  
    She then remembered a conversation they’d had on the night of her surprise party. Amélie had noticed the tattoo on his arm and had inquired about it. He was more than happy to tell her the story of the Deadlock Gang and how he’d been roped into their “cult”. He told her about the tattoo and how he’d kept it around just to spite them every time he busted them with Blackwatch. He informed her how after he’d gotten that tattoo, he’d gone out and gotten a few more. He explained that it was addictive and he wasn’t sure why. Amélie hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now her mind had begun to wander. One moment, she was lying in bed at home and considering one day getting a tattoo. She had gone to sleep and dreamt of the exact thing that she would get. And the next moment, she was at a tattoo parlor with a needle to her skin. Jesse had been right—It was addicting. By the time she was heading back home, she was thinking of even more tattoos she could get.  
  
    The next night, after she had gone out to dinner with Angela, the pair had returned to the townhouse for some wine. Amélie was filling their glasses when Angela noticed the ink on her arm. Amélie hadn’t shown her prior, since she didn’t feel the need to. Angela seemed to be intrigued to say the least. She pulled the sleeve carefully down Amélie’s forearm, her finger grazing over the lettering. Amélie knew her French was a bit rusty, so she cleared her throat a bit.  
  
    “ _Araignée du soir, cauchemar_ ,” Amélie hummed, “I saw it in a dream.”  
  
    “The tattoo?” Angela wanted to know.  
  
    “Yes. An old saying my mother would repeat when I was a child.” Amélie finished filling their glasses.  
  
    It wasn’t the exact saying. And it wasn’t so much a saying as it was a superstition. It went, “Araignée du matin, chagrin, araignée du soir, espoir”. It was to say that if you saw a spider at the beginning of your day, it would not get any better. However, if you saw one in the evening, it would bring good luck or hope for the next day. The tattoo had been her own take on the superstition. Instead of the evening spider bringing hope, it would bring nightmares. Amélie felt this was the truth in light of recent events. She had seen it in her dream, as well. It felt important to her.  
  
    “Hm…” Angela hummed, “Did it hurt?”  
  
    “ _Non_ ,” She replied as she took a sip of wine, “I think I want to get another. I spoke to Jesse McCree once about tattoos and I didn’t believe him when he said they were addicting.”  
  
    “He certainly has quite a few,” Angela responded as she continued to eye the tattoo.  
  
    “Would you ever consider getting a tattoo?” Amélie asked out of curiosity.  
  
    “I’m not sure.” The doctor paused as she thought about it for a moment, “I don’t even know what I would get a tattoo of.”  
  
    “A stethoscope.” Amélie smirked as she raised her glass to her lips again.  
  
    “Hilarious,” Angela rolled her eyes and the French woman stepped closer to her.  
  
    “Have you gotten sassier since we last saw each other?” She teased, pressing her lips to Angela’s cheek.  
  
    Angela shook her head and dodged Amélie’s lips, “No.”  
  
    “So cranky,” Amélie teased further, “Do you need a nap?”  
  
    “I’m a grown woman, Amélie.” Angela pointed out with a dry tone.  
  
    “I think we should still go to bed.” Amélie propositioned flirtatiously.  
  
    “Oh?” Angela asked as she leaned against the counter top, “And why’s that?”  
  
    “Well, from what I’ve heard, I have a month’s worth of time to make up for…” The dancer said as she set her glass on the counter and took Angela by the waist.  
  
    She leaned forward and began kissing Angela’s neck. Her hands wanted to roam beyond Angela’s waist, but Amélie knew that it was best to wait. She’d learned that the longer she waited, the more worked up Angela would get. And to Amélie, there was nothing better than hearing Angela beg. The dark haired woman focused solely on her partner’s neck for the time. Her lips explored the exposed skin of the medic’s neck, leaving some goosebumps in their wake.  
  
    Amélie could hear the distraction in Angela’s voice, “You really can’t remember anything?”  
  
    “Not a thing.” She muttered against the end of the blonde’s collarbone.  
  
    “How strange…” Angela said to herself.  
  
    “You know what’s strange, _cherie_?” Amélie started as she pulled away and looked at Angela.  
  
    Angela’s big, blue eyes were riddled with concern, “Hm?”  
  
    “That you’re still not naked.” Amélie gave a smirk as she tried to show Angela that there was no need to be concerned.  
  
    Angela’s face turned tomato red and she giggled. Amélie loved that. She took her by the wrist and led her upstairs to the master bedroom. As they entered the room, Amélie could feel the sudden change in Angela’s body language. She tensed up at the mere sight of the bed and Amélie hoped that she could get her to see that it wasn’t a big deal. If it didn’t bother her, it shouldn’t bother Angela. The bed wasn’t technically Gérard’s, anyhow. How could it be his if he was never around to sleep in it? Since moving here, Amélie could count the amount of times he’d slept in this bed on one hand. Amélie disrobed quickly and noticed Angela fumbling with the button on her pants. Angela wasn’t even paying attention to the task at hand. Amélie decided to take action, pushing the doctor onto the bed and tugging off her pants for her.  
  
    “I’ll wash the sheets.” She told her.  
  
    Somehow, that was enough. Angela seemed to relax a bit more. Amélie moved over her, resting her knees on either side of Angela’s hips and bringing her finger tips to lie on her stomach. The dancer could feel Angela’s eyes on her as she looked upon her body. That feeling crept into Amélie again—That feeling that told her to cling to Angela. Her touch was almost cautious as she ran her fingers over Angela’s abdomen. After her eyes had reviewed every inch of Angela’s body, Amélie lowered her head toward the blonde’s chest. Her mouth found Angela’s left nipple and she ran her tongue over it, eliciting a quiet gasp from Angela.  
  
    She took this as a cue, moving one of her hands between Angela’s legs. Amélie lifted her head and brought her lips to meet Angela’s. This wasn’t her normal way of going about things. Every time that she had slept with Angela before this had been a flurry of need and aggression. Now, though, she felt like taking her time. Amélie couldn’t remember being away from Angela, but since her “return” it was like her subconscious had developed a new appreciation for her presence. It was something that Amélie couldn’t ignore. She’d longed for Angela before, but never like this. It wasn’t something she’d ever felt for anyone else. And as alien as it was, she could feel it from Angela as well.  
  
    Amélie pulled away to take off the last article of clothing standing in her way. As soon as she’d gotten rid of Angela’s underwear, she wasted no time in slipping her index and middle finger inside of her. The smaller woman’s hands found Amélie’s shoulder blades, her fingernails digging into the skin as pleasure overwhelmed her. Amélie eventually got into a steady rhythm that had Angela thrusting her hips to match the movements of her slender fingers. She loved seeing Angela like this. It encouraged her to get Angela to the point where she would lose control, completely racked with pleasure. Amélie began to curve her fingers ever-so-slightly as she thrusted them in and out of Angela, who was now arching her back off of the mattress. Angela’s breaths began to get louder and more uneven as Amélie kept her pace.  
  
    She could feel the muscles in her hand and arm burning, but it was easy to ignore with Angela’s actions motivating her. Angela cried out suddenly, legs trembling. She clung to Amélie and her chest heaved with every breath. Usually, it took a bit longer than that. But Amélie didn’t mind. This time felt much different. They looked at each other in a way that Amélie couldn’t equate to anything else they’d been through together. Whatever emotion accompanied it, Amélie couldn’t recognize. But it was powerful. Amélie kissed her, putting every emotion within her into it. She was sure the message was received when she felt Angela’s tears on her own cheek. Amélie pulled away, running her fingers through her lover’s hair.  
  
    There had been a war raging inside of Amélie for a long time. One that was unsure of whether or not she could tell Angela that she loved her. Amélie knew that this entire affair was incredibly hard on Angela’s morals. She often worried that telling Angela how she felt would surely make that harder on her. However, she wanted to say something. She needed to say something—And right now, despite Angela weeping, seemed like the perfect time to say it.  
  
    “I love you, Angela.” Amélie whispered to her, “ _Je t’aime_."

  
    Tears and sweat dripped from Angela’s face as Amélie murmured praise to her. She was nearly choking on her own saliva as she tried to get ahold of herself. Amélie knew that Angela was probably internally mortified, but Amélie didn’t mind this. In this moment, Angela was her truest, most authentic self. Her reaction to all of that pent up emotion was one of the most human things Amélie had ever seen. Angela sat up and wiped at her eyes as Amélie pressed a gentle kiss against her sweaty forehead. She could feel her own eyes beginning to water. Angela cupped the dark haired woman’s cheek, looking at Amélie with an expression that she’d never seen before. Amélie had started to think that perhaps she’d chosen the wrong moment to say those words, or perhaps Angela didn’t even feel the same way. However, Amélie realized there was no sweeter sound than Angela’s response.

  
    “I love you, Amélie.”


	7. VII.

    Amélie stared into her wine glass as she sat alone at the dinner table. Her eyes peeled away from the drink, only to examine the bottle a few inches away. A bottle of _Chateau La Prade Côtes de Francs_. One of the girls at her dance studio had gifted it to her upon Amélie’s return. Of course, it tasted like shit, since the girl was from America and didn’t exactly know the first thing about French wines. It had aged for more than enough time, but not even that could have salvaged the taste of the drink. Regardless, Amélie raised the glass to her lips and took another sip.  
  
    The holographic clock in Gérard’s office beeped twice. Another hour had gone by. It was two o’clock in the morning and sleep was the last thing on her mind. Gérard had returned home for the first night in a while. They had a quiet dinner, then he did some work in his office and headed up to bed. He’d asked Amélie when she’d be coming up, so she told him she had to do some planning for the next ballet she was going to be in. Gérard seemed like he wanted to put up an argument, but he decided against it and walked up the stairs. As he reached the second floor, he called down to her to turn the lights off and lock the doors before she came up to bed. Amélie didn’t want to join him. As far as she was concerned, that bed was not his own. That bed was for her and Angela, now. Still, she’d called back to him that she would.  
  
    That was probably four hours ago. Once the movement upstairs had stopped, Amélie pulled out a bottle of wine and started drinking. She still wasn’t sure why she’d grabbed this bottle. Her eyes fell upon it again as she realized she’d actually finished a little more than half of it by herself. Amélie frowned as she wondered what was wrong with her taste buds. Normally she couldn’t stand cheap wine, but this was surprisingly easy. She took another drink of wine, finishing off the glass. The only good thing about being a seasoned drinker was knowing that she wouldn’t be hungover the next day. She’d never had a hangover before, but she knew that Angela and most people were usually prone to them. Not getting hangovers, though, made for a great excuse to get drunk the night before a flight.  
  
    Amélie still couldn’t believe that she and Angela had committed to doing something so bold. She remembered reading romance novels and watching romantic movies when she was younger. This thing that they were doing felt a lot like something she’d see in one of those books or films. The dancer smiled slightly to herself as she thought of where they might end up together. She could see them sitting on the warm sands of a beach, someplace with crystal clear water. Angela would have her nose in a book and Amélie would be lying beside her, just enjoying her company. Or perhaps they’d end up someplace cold and rainy. They could spend too much time in bed in the morning, wrapped up in the blankets and huddled up to one another. Then they could spend their evenings drinking wine in front of the fireplace while rain tapped away on the roof and the window panes.  
  
    As she day dreamed, her eyes strayed down to the sparkling band around her finger. Amélie felt a dull ache in her chest. When she was sixteen years old, her father had introduced her to Gérard and his father. At the time, she thought nothing of it. The only things on her mind were ballet, school, and occasionally a certain girl who worked at the dance studio she was attending. However, as time went on, it became clear to Amélie that her father had planned on the two of them hitting it off. It had been quite the opposite, though, as Amélie was oblivious to his flirting and deflected any advances that he tried to make. When she turned eighteen, her father was much more straightforward about the fact that she was to marry Gérard. Since their fathers were both politicians, they had ties to solidify with one another. It appeared that they both viewed the marriage as the only method of alliance. Amélie often wondered why she had to be involved in his work—especially in a way that made her have to spend her life tethered to Gérard. But even her own mother never took her side in the arguments Amélie would start with her father and eventually she found herself standing on an altar with Gérard before her.  
  
    She shuddered as she looked back on it. Most girls dreamt of their wedding days, but Amélie had dreaded hers. Everyone around them was so blissfully unaware of the fact that their love was a mere facade, put together by the greed of their fathers. The night was full of laughter and dancing and good spirits. If someone had announced the truth that their love was an illusion, they surely would have been the laughing stock of the evening. It just didn’t seem possible. Since they had started dating, Amélie had become quite the actress. The only difference between she and Gérard was the fact that while his acting became reality, Amélie’s role only got harder and harder to continue. With every passing day, she felt increasingly miserable. She rarely spoke to her parents and the only time she felt like her head was on straight was when she was dancing. At the dance studio and on the center stage, she was Amélie Guillard. She was free to be herself. Anywhere else, though, she was just “Gérard’s wife”. It ate away at her, even though Gérard was hardly ever around her because of his work. Amélie had weathered it for years before the idea crept into her head that she would eventually break.  
  
    Then she met Angela. Amélie remembered every detail about the night that they’d been introduced to one another. The doctor was wearing a little blue dress and had put her hair up into a bun. The dress was almost the same shade of blue as her eyes. Her eyes struck Amélie. They’d locked almost instantly onto her own and they were so big and kind. The radiant blue made for quite the contrast to her blonde locks. Amélie had smiled at her. Angela was nervous. Amélie probably looked like hell with a make-up streaked face and messy hair, but Angela had unknowingly given her a certain look that filled her with confidence. Angela complimented her performance and Amélie felt a sense of pride, accompanied by a fluttering sensation in her stomach. After that night, Amélie didn’t have a doubt in her mind that she had to pursue Angela. The medic had occupied her thoughts nearly every minute of every day since their meeting. Amélie was almost worried that their dynamic would be similar to one of she and Gérard’s; The kind where one party was plagued with a hopeless, unrequited love for the other party. But her worry was quickly put to rest the night that she’d taken the plunge and kissed Angela.  
  
    She hadn’t planned to. In fact, she had wanted to wait to see if Angela would make the first move. Amélie had figured out that the woman wasn’t the romantic type, but she could see that there were instances where she flustered Angela. They happened quite frequently and she’d wanted to see how many times it would take for Angela to take action. Things didn’t quite go that way, though. Amélie was terrified of being alone again for the first time in a while. Angela was the first person she had met in a long time who thought of her as something more than just “Gerard’s wife” and she wasn’t ready to be separated from that. Sure, she would be with her fellow dancers… But it would be different. She and Angela had formed a connection. It was only continuing to grow, feeding into the desires that Amélie wished so badly to act on. With a whirlwind of emotions clouding her judgement, it suddenly seemed like the right time. Looking back on it now, Amélie smirked to herself and chuckled. How could the right time have been the moment when she was sobbing like a snot-nosed toddler?  
  
    Angela hadn’t cared, though. It had proven to be the right moment after all. Things between them had quickly changed pace and Amélie was happy. There was a spring in her step every day and she felt motivated again. For the first time in a long time, Amélie felt content. Angela had remedied the thought that had been knocking around the inside of her head for so long, convincing her that she wouldn’t last much longer leading her life the way she had been. It was so much better, now. She was being taken care of. Still, Amélie struggled with the idea that she didn’t deserve it. She convinced herself several times that she didn’t deserve to have Angela in her life. Amélie thought a lot about how taxing the guilt of being a technical mistress must be on Angela. Angela was all about morals. Amélie had practically waltzed into her life and made her readjust. She sighed to herself as she poured another glass of wine. The cheap, red liquid sloshed around as Amélie raised the glass to her mouth.  
  
    It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Angela had to go through that for her. In order to be happy, she had to cross boundaries that she once deemed uncross-able. It wasn’t fair that Amélie had to be married to Gérard. This was not the way that she intended on spending her life. She hadn’t even gotten a say in it, her father had mapped her destiny out for her well before she had even reached the tender age of five. It wasn’t fair that Gérard had been able to take to his role so naturally that he had actually fallen head over heels for her. It didn’t repulse Amélie, it only filled her chest with a dull ache. She had nothing to feel guilty about. After all, she knew that you couldn't make someone love you or make someone stop loving you. It would be a waste of time to spend her days being eaten by the guilt of knowing that she could never love Gérard the way that he had grown to love her. Besides, it wasn’t her fault that this was the life that both of their fathers had chosen for them. They had carried out their agenda knowing full well that something arranged came with the added risk of no real connection. Amélie stood up and walked into Gérard’s office.  
  
    Slim fingers flicked on the light switch next to the door as the dancer walked over to his desk. Amélie sat down in his chair, which was a lot cushier than she had realized. As she settled into the puffy leather, her eyes went over the numerous pictures that surrounded Gérard’s work area. There were a few familiar snapshots of herself, but she was more interested in the ones of Angela. Amélie’s favorite was the one of Angela in her Halloween costume. It always got a grin to cross her face. Amélie took the photograph from the wall above his computer and held it in her hand. On the bottom left corner, it was signed in bright orange pen. It read, “Happy Halloween, Gérard!” with a smiley face beside his name. Amélie looked at it for a long time before finally tacking it back where she had found it. The clock in the office beeped to signify a half hour passing. Amélie could hardly believe she’d been occupied with her own thoughts for hours, now. As she got up to leave the office, she felt a sudden bout of dizziness and she clutched the edge of door frame. The wine in her glass threatened to slosh over the sides as she corrected her balance.  
  
    Usually she was never shaken by a drink or several. She wondered if perhaps she’d just gotten up too fast. A warm feeling radiated through the back of her neck, spreading all throughout her body. She wanted to walk out of his office, but something was preventing her from moving. There was a slight ringing in her ears and she closed her eyes reflexively. Amélie considered yelling up to Gérard for help, but she couldn’t even open her mouth. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Amélie opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. It was over, but she felt like her body and mind had gone into autopilot. She turned around and made her way to the gun safe that was hidden in a cabinet at the bottom of Gérard’s bookcase. He had never told her the combination, but she knew that he used the same few digits for every PIN and key code that he had. The lock gave a soft thunk as it came undone. Amélie opened the safe and pulled out a decent sized handgun with a silencer attached from the front of the safe.  
  
    She pulled out the clip, realizing that it was full. Instead of putting the gun back, she closed the hatch to the safe and got to her feet. For whatever reason, she had abandoned all rational thinking. Maybe this could make things fair. Gérard wouldn’t have to live with his unrequited feelings, Amélie wouldn’t have to sneak around his back, and Angela wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore. It made perfect sense. It was foolproof. Her footsteps were silent as she went down the hallway and set the clip back in place. It gave a small click and she turned the safety off as she climbed the stairs. It was dark, but she knew every inch of the house. She reached the second floor and crept into the master bedroom. The door was already half open, so she slipped through and stood at the foot of the bed.  
  
    Her pulse wasn’t racing, her hands weren’t sweating, and her conscious mind didn’t seem to have a problem with anything that was happening. Normally, upon acting on a bad idea, she would hear a nagging in her mind. Now, she heard only silence in her head. Amélie looked at Gérard as he slept. He always slept on his stomach, with his arms underneath his pillow. Sometimes he would snore. Amélie pulled the hammer of the gun back and pointed the barrel directly at Gérard’s head. Her vision, for whatever reason, had never felt clearer than it did in that moment. She drew in a steady, deep breath. Before she let it out, her finger closed around the trigger. There was a slight recoil and a little ghost of smoke emerged from the barrel of the handgun. A few feet in front of her, Gérard was now lifeless. Blood began to exit the head wound as Amélie looked at the gun in her hands. She fully understood what had just happened. She knew that she had just taken a life. She didn’t feel anything, though. She was just as calm now as she was when she had been sitting downstairs, drinking wine. Everything felt eerily still.  
  
    Gérard Lacroix was dead, leaving her to be Amélie Guillard once again.


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super late update. life is kicking my ass. regardless, i hope you enjoy this steamy little chapter.

    “This is ridiculous, Amélie! Why did I let you talk me into this?” Angela chided as they snuck through the darkened corridors of the Overwatch headquarters.  
  
    “Because you knew how much fun you would be missing out on if you’d have said no.” Amélie replied in a matter-of-fact tone.  
  
    Angela’s grip on Amélie’s hand tightened slightly, causing the corners of the French woman’s lips to turn upward. She could practically feel the nerves radiating off of Angela’s body. It was to be expected, though. Amélie knew that she didn’t want to get into any trouble. However, it was the doctor that had dug her own grave to begin with. During the initial tours she had given Amélie around the base, she mentioned that they had a pool somewhere in the training hall. At the time, though, it was undergoing maintenance and they had closed off the area. When Amélie had finally caught wind of the repairs being complete, she knew what she had to do.  
  
    “Do you even know where you’re going?” Angela whispered to her as they passed a series of doors.  
  
    “Of course, _cherie_. I learned from the best.” Amélie quipped.  
  
    The dancer didn’t have to turn around to know that Angela had just given her the most exaggerated eye roll possible.  
  
    “I wish I would’ve brought my glasses.” The blonde muttered to herself as they cautiously crossed a dimly lit intersection between the halls and rounded the next corner.  
  
    Sure enough, Amélie had managed to lead them in the right direction. The two sliding doors greeted them, free of the bright yellow tape that had formerly prohibited any entry. Angela pulled out her ID badge and looked around the hallway before sliding it through the small reader on the wall. There was a quiet beep before the doors gave a soft click. They slid open smoothly and Amélie snatched the doctor by the wrist, leading the charge into the darkened room ahead of them. They could hear the doors close behind them as they came to a brief stop. A bright light kicked on above their heads and Amélie blinked hard. Angela stepped away from the switch, looking around the locker room.  
  
    “I haven’t been in here in months, so I don’t exactly have a swim suit on hand.” Angela informed her partner in crime.  
  
    Amélie lifted a brow, “Who said anything about swim suits?”  
  
    Angela’s face flushed red as Amélie nodded toward the door that would take them into the pool hall. Angela followed suit as the dancer pushed open the blue door. It was just as dark in this area of the building as it was when they’d first walked in. Amélie tried to search the room for any kind of lighting panel, but Angela beat her to it again. A dim glow appeared beneath the surface of the water. The reflection of the light beneath the water danced across the walls, making everything reasonably visible.  
  
    “I hope this is alright. I don’t want to turn on any more, or this place will be lit up like a Christmas tree.” The Swiss woman said as she closed the door on the control panel.  
  
    “This will do,” Amélie nodded as she pulled her shirt over her head.  
  
    She pretended not to notice the medic’s eyes roaming over her body as she disrobed. Although, she did make it a point to give her a bit of a show. It was always something that she had to do to fluster Angela. As she shimmied out of her pants and kicked them off, she looked up to her.  
  
    “I hope you’re not planning on standing there all night.” She teased as she removed the hair band from around her wrist and began putting her hair up.  
  
    Angela seemed to snap back to reality as she took off her beloved lab coat. Amélie giggled to herself as she tightened up her ponytail. Angela stripped down to her underwear, kicking her clothes further away from the edge of the pool. Amélie finished combing her fingers through her hair before unclasping her bra and letting it fall down her arms and onto the ground. Angela looked at her in surprise as she pulled off her underwear, stepping out of them and dropping them on top of the pile of clothes beneath her. With a laugh, Amélie took a running start and plunged into the water. Small waves and large ripples animated the surface of the once still water. The dancer’s head emerged from the middle of the pool and Angela covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.  
  
    “The water’s exquisite. Care to join me?” Amélie extended the invitation with a flirtatious tenor.  
  
    Blush consumed Angela’s pale face as she took off her underwear, too. Amélie whistled playfully, earning a scolding “shh” from Angela as she walked to the water’s edge. The doctor carefully dipped a toe into the water before jumping in to join Amélie. She came to the surface quickly, wiping at her eyes as she took in some air. Amélie swam to her and gave a prideful grin.  
  
    “See? It’s nice. I knew this was a good idea.” She told the blonde.  
  
    Angela rolled her eyes again as she began swimming toward the more shallow part of the pool, “I still think it’s questionable at best.”  
  
    “Why? Because you didn’t get to bring your research?” Amélie snickered as she swam after her accomplice.  
  
    “No,” Angela pouted, “Because, what if the whole reason they had this area closed off was to install cameras or something?”  
  
    The raven-haired woman watched as Angela scanned the corners near the ceiling, her eyes narrowing. She stood up and wrapped her arms around the smaller woman’s waist. As she pulled her closer, she slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up gently.  
  
    “Well, then, let them watch.” Amélie joked and leaned in slowly as Angela pushed her face away.  
  
    “Amélie! That’s filthy.” She admonished, averting her gaze to the surface of the water.  
  
    “I’m only kidding, _mon ange_.” The taller woman assured her, “I doubt it would take months to install measly security cameras, anyhow.”  
  
    “That’s true, I suppose… We do only have them installed on the exterior of the headquarters…” Angela thought out loud.  
  
    “See? Don’t be silly.” Amélie said, splashing a bit of water at her.  
  
    Angela sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m just worked up.”  
  
    “That’s why we’re getting into a little mischief. It’ll help you relax.” She informed the doctor.  
  
    “Is that what it’s supposed to do? I’m experiencing quite the opposite.” Angela forced a laugh.  
  
    Amélie swam around her partner and got back to her feet, pressing her body against Angela’s back. Her long fingers closed lightly around the blonde’s arms, running up and down the length of them gently. She could feel Angela’s form become slightly less tense. Amélie rested her chin on Angela’s shoulder, planting a soft kiss on the wet skin of her neck.  
  
    “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t certain we wouldn’t be caught. I was hoping you’d feel more like a rebellious teenager than a stressed medical professional.” Amélie said quietly.  
  
    Angela rested her head atop Amélie’s, taking in a deep breath, “If it’s any consolation, I do feel like a rebellious teenager. You know me, though, Amélie. I’m a bit of a buzzkill.”  
  
    Amélie gave a theatrical gasp, “What? _Mon ange_? A buzzkill? No, no, no. Not _my_ Angela. You must be thinking of someone else.”  
  
    “Very funny, Amélie.”  
  
    “I’m serious, Doctor Ziegler. My Angela is funny and sweet and sometimes even a little fiery,” Amélie elaborated as Angela lifted her head and turned to look at her.  
  
    Angela was blushing again, but she still seemed to think Amélie was joking with her. Amélie knew this was within reason, as the pair was constantly bantering with one another. Amélie most frequently poked fun at Angela, but it was only ever in good taste. Angela knew how to dish out what she was served, too. Amélie always enjoyed when Angela would sass her or tease her back. It kept her on her toes. Now, though, Amélie was telling the whole truth. How could Angela see herself as anything less than absolutely wonderful? Amélie couldn’t think of a single time when Angela had actively prevented her from having fun. If anything, Angela was always surprising her with her willingness to get involved in Amélie’s charades. Not to mention when she came up with schemes on her own, like the time that she surprised Amélie in London. The doctor could be unpredictable when she wanted to.  
  
    “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to differentiate between your sarcasm and your seriousness, no matter how long I know you.” Angela laughed, placing a palm on Amélie’s cheek.  
  
    “You handle it better than most, _cherie_. I suppose my incredible intelligence is paralleled only by your own.” Amélie beamed playfully as Angela leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.  
  
    Angela hummed, “You’re sweet, Amélie. I appreciate you. And I appreciate your methods for trying to help me destress, even if they’re a bit unorthodox.”  
  
    “I have to keep things interesting, no?” Amélie smirked, “I mean, I want you to stick around.”  
  
    “I’d keep coming around even if you were the most boring person on the face of the earth.” Angela told her.  
  
    “You’re quite the cheese,” Amélie prodded as she peppered her lover’s face with quick kisses, “I think I’ll keep you.”  
  
    Angela couldn’t help but roll her eyes again, “ _Klappe zu und küss mich_.”  
  
    Amélie didn’t need to be told more than once. Cupping the blonde’s cheeks, Amélie captured her lips in a fervid kiss. Angela draped her arms around the French woman’s neck, moving in closer to her. They wasted no time being gentle with one another. Their kiss had almost instantaneously escalated into a mixture of tongue and teeth. Amélie’s hands moved downward, stopping on the backs of Angela’s thighs before lifting up the medic. She was practically weightless in the water, which Amélie very much enjoyed. Having control over Angela filled Amélie with excitement and put her on a bit of a power trip. Angela usually handed the reigns over to her lover, but it still drove Amélie crazy every time. No matter how things went, every time that things got intimate between the two, Amélie swore it still felt like the first time.  
  
    As Amélie moved Angela to the edge of the pool and pressed her back against the coping, the blonde let out a breathy moan. Amélie smirked and slid her right hand up the small of Angela’s back, then over her stomach and down between her legs. Angela placed a hand on the back of Amélie’s neck and yanked her in for another kiss. Her bottom lip was greeted by the smaller woman’s teeth, which nipped at her gently. Amélie slowly rubbed her thumb over Angela’s clit, causing the doctor to purr in delight. She wrapped her legs around the raven-haired woman’s waist, one of her hands latching onto the coping behind her. Amélie’s fingers worked meticulously as she handled her accomplice. Every so often, Angela would let out a soft moan or whimper. The longer this continued, the more frustrated Angela’s sounds began to seem. Amélie got a special kind of amusement from this. Teasing Angela verbally was one thing, but teasing her sexually was an entirely different ballgame; A much more rewarding one, as well.  
  
    “Amé, if you don’t quit fooling around, I-I’m going to drown you.” Angela hissed into her ear as the dancer continued to toy with her.  
  
    “I’m not fooling around,” Amélie said nonchalantly, slipping her middle finger into Angela.  
  
    A choked moan came from behind her lips before she bit down on Amélie’s shoulder. The taller woman closed her eyes in delight as the pain of Angela’s bite sent sparks through her body. She slid her finger out, the short nails on her right hand scraping down the length of Angela’s inner thigh. The blonde unlatched her teeth from the skin near Amélie’s collar bone, clearly vexed. She rested her head in the crook of Amélie’s neck and drew in an exasperated sigh. Amélie tangled her fingers in the wet mop of golden locks that were in her face.  
  
    “Pouting, are we?” The dancer chastised.  
  
    Angela scoffed against her exposed skin. The hairs on the back of Amélie’s neck stood on end and a small chill rippled down her spine. She brushed her fingers through Angela’s hair before tucking a few strands behind her ears.  
  
    “Get out of the water,” Amélie said, getting Angela to look at her and lift a brow.  
  
    She leaned back against the coping and crossed her arms, “You’re just going to tease me for a few minutes and then call it a night?”  
  
    “I would never do such a thing.” The taller woman said theatrically, “Just trust me.”  
  
    Angela glared at her as she unwrapped her legs from Amélie’s waist. Amélie did her best not to put on a boastful grin as the blonde moved to the steps in the corner and got out of the pool. She walked around the edge of the water and came to a stop in front of Amélie. Water dripped from her body as she hugged herself to keep from getting cold. Amélie could no longer resist the temptation to wear her usual simper.  
  
    “I don’t know where they keep the towels, so if you’re expecting me to bring you one—“  
  
    “Sit.” Amélie patted the coping in front of her.  
  
    Angela lifted a brow at her again, but sat down anyway. Her feet dangled in the water and she kept her arms folded over her chest. Little goosebumps had broken out across Angela’s skin. She was cold, but Amélie was intent on heating her up. Who knew how to better than she did?  
  
    “Good girl.” Amélie said softly.  
  
    The reddish hue that had a tendency to occupy Angela’s cheeks had returned. She rubbed her arm timidly as she tried to brush off Amélie’s words. Amélie knew full well what she was doing. She had become somewhat of a professional at figuring out what made Angela tick in the time that they’d spent together. Praise was nothing short of a massive turn on for Angela and Amélie had duly noted it the moment she had found out. The dark-haired woman ran her hands up the lengths of Angela’s legs, stopping at her kneecaps and pushing them apart. Angela perked up as Amélie ghosted her fingers over the skin of her inner thigh. She bit her lip, filled with hope as Amélie admired her body. A smile crossed the dancer’s lips as she gestured toward the blonde to move forward.  
  
    Angela scooted closer to the edge of the pool as Amélie continued to praise her, “So obedient, _mon ange_.”  
  
    Amélie pushed her knees a little further apart before leaning in and pressing her tongue gently against Angela’s clit. The medic gasped loudly, hands instantly making their way for Amélie’s dark tresses. She lapped softly and consistently at the small bundle of nerves with Angela’s grip on her hair tightening every so often. The dancer relished in the taste of her lover and the feeling of knowing how much bliss she could bring to her. To her, nothing was better than knowing that she could bring Angela pleasure. Well, nothing was better except for the reactions that she would get. As she began to increase her pace, she dexterously crossed her index finger over her middle finger and slipped the digits into Angela’s sex. Angela moaned loudly, her fingernails raking through Amélie’s hair and motivating her further. She continued thrusting her fingers in and out of Angela as her mouth worked tirelessly. Angela’s breaths were short and loud as she pulled Amélie’s hair harder than before. The blonde held her head in place as she tightened around Amélie’s fingers, crying out in ecstasy. Amélie continued with long, slow licks as Angela’s hand fell slack from her hair. The doctor attempted to catch her breath, but barely had the time between involuntary whimpers caused by Amélie’s persistence.  
  
    “Such a good girl,” Amélie purred as she stepped back from between her partner’s legs.  
  
    Angela pushed herself over the edge of the coping, rejoining Amélie in the warm water. She wrapped her arms around the taller woman and captured her lips in a dazed kiss. The two held on to each other as they stood in the middle of the water. Angela’s skin was damp, but warm. Her skin was so soft and smooth. Amélie wished that they could just stay here forever. Angela’s presence was just too good—And it was always out of her grasp so soon. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, content breath. What she had expected to be air felt more like water in her nostrils and throat. She opened her eyes again, only to realize that Angela was no longer there and she had been completely submerged. Everything around her was dark, but it felt like there were several pairs of eyes on her. Where had Angela gone? Where was she? Who was there with her? There were no responses to her questions. There was only the sight of a neon purple glow from the other side of the glass before sleep overtook her.


	9. IX.

    “It felt good, did it not?” An eerie voice cooed.  
  
    Amélie opened her eyes, promptly scanning her environment. The hauntingly familiar face of Doctor O’Deorain almost made her shudder. The surprise wasn’t there anymore, though. The French woman saw two other faces—These ones were new. A short, tanned woman stood to the left of the tall doctor. Her body seemed to be adorned with extremely high-tech cybernetic enhancements. On the right stood a brooding figure with a mask that bore a resemblance to the Grim Reaper. It almost seemed to be a statue, standing still with its arms crossed over its chest. Doctor O’Deorain stepped closer to her, running a freakish fingernail along the curve of Amélie’s jaw.  
  
    “Killing Gérard.” The partially-masked woman purred into her ear.  
  
    Amélie’s eyes would have widened instantly if something weren’t missing. What was missing? Every part of her body felt numb, but so did her emotions. Her mind was racing, but nothing would come of it. Doctor O’Deorain had to be lying. Amélie wasn’t capable of murder. How would that even be possible, anyway? She had been holed up in this laboratory for so long, now. The dancer attempted to move forward toward the doctor, but found that she was restrained. This seemed to be a recurring theme with the Irish woman. Amélie’s head lolled to the side as she examined the braces holding her arms. There seemed to be a blueish tint to her hands and the skin just above her wrists, but she wondered if perhaps she was just seeing things. Amélie cast her gaze to the floor. Sure enough, she had been stripped of all any clothing and two cuffs were closed around her ankles. The tips of her toes were almost a purple color and she considered that they could have given her frostbite. It would explain the numbness in her extremities.  
  
    The woman to the left of the doctor scoffed, “ _Pobrecito_. I think your plaything is broken, doc.”  
  
    Amélie noticed her speech, figuring that maybe she hailed from somewhere in South America or maybe Spain. Something about her tone was very mischievous and perhaps a little bit teasing. The scientist seemed to ignore her, but the figure to the right of her ended up speaking.  
  
    “She better not be… We’ve put too much time into this.” A gravelly male voice said from beneath the mask.  
  
    There was something about that voice that struck Amélie as odd, though her mind was too foggy to be able to put a finger on it. Doctor O’Deorain turned to the man, who was only a bit taller than her.  
  
    “Ah, yes. But it worked, hm?” She replied, “She’s fine, simply recovering from the effects of the sedatives.”  
  
    “She’s right. It’s pretty impressive, Gabe. What’re you going to do with her next, doc? Teach her to ride a unicycle?” The woman with the glowing strips on her head snickered.  
  
    Gabe? Amélie blinked hard as she stared at the cloaked man. That name felt so familiar.  
  
    “Sombra.” He snapped.  
  
    “Perhaps Gabriel will be so kind as to let me use you instead of her for my coming experiments,” The red-headed woman deadpanned.  
  
    “Aw, come on. If you do that, who will be around to help you reset the router?” The woman, who Amélie assumed was the one referred to as ‘Sombra’, further antagonized the doctor.  
  
    “Enough.” The ghostly looking man demanded, “Moira, how soon can you have her ready to be an operative?”  
  
    “It shouldn’t take me long. Look at all of the progress we’ve made thus far.” Doctor O’Deorain smiled as she turned back to look at Amélie.  
  
    The woman’s smile was dreadful. All of her teeth were white and well-aligned, but coupled with the rest of her face, it filled Amélie with an inexplicable fear. The worst part of it all was how dull the feeling was. The dancer wanted to scream like a frightened child, but she couldn’t find it in herself. There was no motivation for her to do anything; Not to fight, not to scream, not to cry. She certainly didn’t feel like she had given up or surrendered herself to these strangers, but rather that she had lost full control. Amélie felt that everything was out of her hands. Her own body did not even belong to her anymore, let alone her mind. Something within her felt broken.  
  
    “Akande will be waiting for any updates. Get it done.” He said before leaving the room through a pair of sliding doors.  
  
    Sombra followed him suit, leaving Amélie alone with the doctor. She walked to a small cart a few feet away and picked up a silver canister about the size of her palm. Doctor O’Deorain came uncomfortably close to Amélie, unscrewing the lid off of the container and dipping her fingers in it. She began spreading some kind of cream up and down Amélie’s arms, meticulously ensuring that the coating was evenly applied. Amélie turned her head to the other side, not wanting to have to look at the doctor in close proximity. Whatever she was applying to her skin was incredibly cold. Amélie could only feel it faintly, but it was bracing.  
  
    “You’ve been doing wonderfully,” Moira told her as she began slathering the strange rub across her chest, “I’m quite pleased.”  
  
    Amélie said nothing. She had nothing to say. Her eyes remained trained to the left as Doctor O’Deorain’s hands moved over her chest. There was a spot that she touched in the center of her sternum that elicited a rather unpleasant feeling. Amélie hissed through her teeth as her attention snapped toward the area. The very brief pain subsided and left her with a strange tingling. Her eyes found a strange, small scar that she hadn’t noticed before. Moira continued going about her task.  
  
    “My apologies. I should’ve known that certain pains are still capable of being felt.” The doctor pointed out, “How would you rate that pain on a scale from one to ten?”  
  
    “Six.” Amélie murmured.  
  
    “I’m very sorry for the discomfort.” Moira replied.  
  
    Amélie looked the doctor in the eye, “What happened?”  
  
    “Nothing detrimental to you, aside from some small side effects. I’ve engineered a mechanism that slows your heart rate to make you undetectable on any form of radar.” Doctor O’Deorain elaborated as she moved on to Amélie’s left arm.  
  
    The gears in Amélie’s head began to turn as her eyes came to rest upon the ends of her limbs again. She was losing circulation in her extremities. Wouldn’t they fall off? The dancer attempted to move her fingers and toes. To her surprise, they responded without any issue. Moira noticed this, her brows raising a bit.  
  
    “Your fingers and toes will be fine. I’ve implemented specially crafted nanobots that will ensure your body receives enough blood and oxygen to sustain itself. I’m sure the change of color is just from the initial stages of the process.” The Irish woman informed her.  
  
    “Will it go away?” Amélie asked, clenching and unclenching her right fist.  
  
    “It’s a bit too early to tell,” She said, “I’m not entirely sure as of now. Either way, it doesn’t truly matter. You have more important concerns than vanity.”  
  
    Concerns? Amélie wasn’t sure what the doctor was referring to, but she figured she had asked enough questions about the things they had done to her. She wasn’t too excited to learn what they had planned for her, given what she’d just learned. The raven-haired woman’s mind lingered to thoughts of Angela and what had become of her. Had it really been so easy for Angela to forget about her? How long had she been here? Why hadn’t they sent anyone, yet? Amélie’s chest ached again, despite the lack of touch.  
  
    “Have they sent anyone?” Amélie wanted to know.  
  
    “Has who sent anyone?” Moira inquired, stopping to look at her specimen.  
  
    “Overwatch.”  
  
    The doctor seemed to stifle a harsh laugh as she shook her head, “It doesn’t matter whether or not they do, my dear. They don’t know the location of this place.”  
  
    “Oh,” Was all that Amélie could say in return.  
  
    “They have enough problems of their own as it is, anyway.” Doctor O’Deorain added.  
  
    That was oddly cryptic. Amélie’s brow furrowed.  
  
    “What do you mean?”  
  
    “The Overwatch Headquarters suffered a most unfortunate accident. There was an explosion that wiped out the base.” Moira said, her tone its usual unsettling calm.  
  
    Amélie didn’t have to feel her heart to know that it had sunk. The Overwatch Headquarters acted as a beacon of hope. Now that it was gone, what would become of the organization? Had that been the reason that they hadn’t sent anyone for her? Had Angela even made it out alive? Her head began to fill with questions that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answers to. Moira kneeled down to begin applying the cream to her legs and stomach, causing Amélie to look down. The doctor was stoic. Amélie began to wonder if perhaps she looked the same way, now.  
  
    “Why do you care to know?” The red-headed woman asked her.  
  
    “They’re really the only thing I can remember.” Amélie admitted.  
  
    “I suppose a memory wipe is in order, then?” Moira looked up at her.  
  
    “No,” The French woman answered, “Please, no.”  
  
    “And why not? It would be easier for you that way.” Doctor O’Deorain told her, standing up to be face-to-face with Amélie.  
  
    “I want to remember them.” Amélie said, “I don’t want to forget.”  
  
    “It will only stand the way of your potential, Miss Lacroix… We plan on crafting you into the perfect assassin. It’s much harder to take the lives of those you remember, with the exception of Gérard… As you may recall.” Moira stated bluntly, once again bringing up Amélie’s husband.  
  
    “I don’t.” Amélie shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
    “Give it time.” The doctor dismissed her statement as she worked on Amélie’s thighs.  
  
    Amélie revisited the memories that she could actually drudge back up. There were a few things that she could remember clearly, most of them being the times spent with Angela. A handful of brief memories with Gérard played in her head, doing little to answer the questions that Moira’s comments raised. The memory of their wedding night—Of course she’d never forget that one, the memory of arguing with him about how to decorate their bedroom, and the memory of the first time he’d kissed her. Her mind lingered back to Angela for a moment’s notice before a flash of something unfamiliar went through Amélie’s head.  
  
    The weight of a body beside her and the feeling of her fingers running through someone’s hair. Amélie tried harder to clearly visualize the memory. Perhaps this was just one of the nights she’d spent with Angela. The dancer closed her eyes and felt her brow furrow as she tried to recollect the thought. The person beside her became clear enough for her to realize that it was Gérard, rather than Angela. Though it was somewhat blurry, her hands seemed to be stained with blood. Amélie’s eyes opened abruptly as the image of Gérard with a bullet hole in his head became crystal clear in her mind. There was a quiet chuckle from the scientist as she wiped her hands off and stood up.  
  
    “Just think of what you’ll be able to do once we unlock your full potential.” Moira said with another nauseating smile.  
  
    Amélie didn’t want to think of that. Had she killed Gérard? Was that memory even real? Everything felt so empty and bizarre. Amélie didn’t feel sad, but she swore that she could feel tears threatening to spill from her eyes. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Amélie wasn’t capable of murder and Overwatch was still completely up and running. They were feeding her lies to get her to give up any kind of hope she had left. Amélie would get out of here soon enough. They were probably on their way now, in fact. The raven-haired woman looked up as Doctor O’Deorain approached her again, wiping away her tears and lifting an eyebrow at her.  
  
    “Reconsidering that memory wipe, are we?”


	10. X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everybody! sorry i'm the worst! enjoy.

    It was surreal. Staring down the scope of a highly technologically advanced sniper rifle and directly into the face of a strangely familiar person. There was something about the woman behind the sniper rifle of her own that elicited an unusual feeling from Amélie. Though it was sudden, it was dull, and did little to stand in the way of her task. The assassin pulled the trigger while her target appeared to stop aiming her down; Hesitating. After the shot rang out, Amélie watched as the barrel of her opponent’s gun slipped back into the room from the window where the sniper had been posted. Amélie never missed. She always hit her mark.  
  
    After that happened, it was like no time had passed before she was staring down the scope. Amélie, now addressed only as “Widowmaker”, had no recollection of the time between these assassinations. She was nothing more than a pawn; A sleeper agent. The French woman would be used for a mission—For dirty work. Then, she would board a drop ship and everything would become a blur. Next thing she knew, she would be at her next destination and people around her would be speaking as if it had been weeks since the last time they’d commenced an operation. Though it confused Amélie, she didn’t bother to ask. She was there to carry out her commands and return back to headquarters.  
  
    At least, that was usually what she was to do. The more that time went on, the more trust Talon’s other operatives put into her. Memory wipes became issued less and less often. The sniper was now able to remember the face of every person she took out. It didn’t trouble her in the slightest. Not like it had before. She was no longer Amélie. She was Widowmaker, a living weapon for Talon. Biologically enhanced to be emotionless, undetectable on radar, and unmatched in skill… Amélie Lacroix had evolved into the perfect weapon. Talon’s assassinations had been going smoother than ever and had given them leeway for more ambitious operations. With Captain Amari out of the way, Talon was able to orchestrate devastating blows to Overwatch.  
  
    Widowmaker had come to find out that Reaper had been working with Talon for a great deal of time prior to double-crossing Overwatch and returning back to the organization. She could recall overhearing he and Doctor O’Deorain’s conversation, one in which Reaper explained that they most likely deemed him dead. Apparently, amidst the chaos, they also believe the Strike Commander of Overwatch to be deceased. Once the leaders of the organization had been dismantled, it was only a matter of time before the rest of Overwatch disintegrated. There had been endless chatter throughout the Talon Headquarters during that time. Talk of Overwatch attempting to rebuild itself surfaced nearly six months afterward, but no further action was taken. Talon didn’t deem them a viable threat quite yet.  
  
    For the time being, Widowmaker was off the clock. Much to her surprise, they were allowed time off during the holidays. Reaper had left the Headquarters, Sombra had up and disappeared for the time being, and even Doctor O’Deorain had been gone for a few days. Widowmaker wasn’t entirely sure what to do with her free time. She didn’t have the desire to do anything, she only felt the intense urge to be occupied. Without any orders, she felt as though her existence was meaningless. She was still hanging around the Headquarters when she heard talk of a celebration for the coming new year. This sounded mildly interesting and for some reason she felt a tinge of intrigue at the mention of London. The Talon agent requested to be flown out and was promptly allotted her time in the city.  
  
    Upon arriving, Widowmaker wasn’t even entirely sure what to do. The sniper wasn’t used to having decisions in her own hands. She had quickly decided that she didn’t wish to be a part of the massive crowd that was gathering to watch the fireworks. The French woman stuck to the shadows and made her way to a nearby hotel. Avoiding as many looks as possible, she hurried to the elevators and pressed the button at the top of the panel. She was eager to get as far away from everyone else as possible. Widowmaker arrived at the top floor of the hotel and took long strides down the hallway. There was a door marked ‘Staff Only’ at the far end of the hall. She looked around for any prying eyes before pushing the door open and instantly setting her sights on a flight of stairs.  
  
    Widowmaker headed up the staircase and opened the door at the top of the steps. A cold gust of wind greeted her as she stepped out onto the rooftop of the hotel. The feeling of the chilled air against her skin elicited no goosebumps or shivers from the woman, who simply continued forward. She was going to stand at the edge of the building to watch the fireworks, but she caught a glimpse of someone sitting in that exact spot. Widowmaker stopped in her tracks and gazed at the individual. The fireworks began to light up the sky and crack loudly in the atmosphere. The figure on the ledge watched the display unfolding over Central London. Whoever it was, they were intoxicated. She could tell by the way that they gently swayed from side to side every time they went to drink more of what had inebriated them in the first place. It was next that she noticed blonde locks, pulled into a messy ponytail. Finally, the stranger stood up and a golden firework flashed across the sky, lighting up her face.  
  
    And something switched inside of her. For a fraction of a second, she felt the immense urge to run forward and throw her arms around the stranger. Something seemed so overwhelmingly familiar about her. A million different thoughts ran through Widowmaker’s mind as she tried to process what was happening. There was a moment of tingling in her fingers and even in her chest. She took a step back and clutched at her sternum, her heels clicking against the concrete beneath her. The woman was walking toward her… Or, rather staggering. Widowmaker’s eyes widened as the identity of the woman dawned on her. A surge of memories crashed over her like a tidal wave.  
  
    There was a brief flash of a smile that they’d shared in the bathroom of a crowded restaurant. Another memory showcased a teary kiss in the hallway of a dimly lit townhouse. The recollection of Angela clutching a bouquet of flowers and standing in a messy dressing room hit her. And it only continued. Snippets from the countless nights that she had shared with this woman but for some reason could not remember. The vague, but familiar phantom feeling of Angela’s lips on her’s, on her neck, on her skin sent a weak chill down her spine. The last thing to come through was the memory of the woman saying a name to her that she did not recognize; Amélie.  
  
    The sniper’s mouth opened before she even had the chance to realize she was speaking to the other woman, _“Ça fait longtemps, chérie.”_  
  
    The blonde had already been wearing a face of complete shock, but her statement probably only fanned the flames. Angela Ziegler looked at Widowmaker as if she were a complete stranger. It was the oddest look she had ever received. In all honesty, it even evoked a peculiar feeling from her. It wasn’t very strong, but it still was not pleasant in the slightest. It made her want to curl in on herself… It made her feel like a monster. Angela’s eyes began to well with tears as she looked back at the shell of the woman she had formerly known.  
  
    “A-Amélie?” She choked out.  
  
    That name again. Widowmaker shook her head and took a few steps back. Was her pulse _increasing?_ This was all too much. The blonde stepped closer to her and shook her head slowly.  
  
    “What… What _happened_ to you?” Angela said in a near whisper.  
  
    It was too much. Why? She wasn’t sure. The sudden change in her heart rate and the look in Angela’s eyes was unbearable. For the first time, Widowmaker experienced a creeping feeling of panic. She needed to leave… She needed to retreat. She looked to her right, then to her left as she spotted the perfect spot to make haste. Widowmaker pulled back the sleeve of her jacket and shot a grappling hook at the building beside the one she was standing on. She looked at Angela one final time and the level-headedness of her voice had all but disappeared.  
  
     _“Adieu, chérie,”_ Widowmaker said before running and jumping off of the side of the building.  
  
    The Talon agent used her momentum to swing up onto the rooftop parallel to the building. When she landed, she looked over her shoulder to find Angela in the same place that she had been. That was the last time she would ever look at her. Turning back around, Widowmaker shot another grapple into the neighboring building and disappeared into the night, leaving the doctor alone on the rooftop.


End file.
